Eight Mercenaries and A Toddler
by ChaosandMayhem
Summary: When Respawn malfunctions and their annoying Scout is turned into something far more precocious, it'll take all of the RED team's wits and patience to look after him. At the same time, Engineer must find a way to turn Scout back into an adult before the BLUs-or anyone else-realizes what's happened. No pairings, just a bunch of exhausted trained killers and one hyperactive child.
1. Ten Minutes to Five

Hi everyone! This is my first foray into TF2 fanfiction, and I'm somewhat new to the fandom as well, so I'm rather excited/nervous to see how this turns out. This idea popped into my head one morning and I couldn't shake it loose. I hope the premise isn't too ridiculous, but then again, Soldier's roommate is a magician. :)

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Eight Mercenaries And A Toddler 

"Only where children gather is there any chance of real fun." –Mignon McLaughlin

"No matter how old you are, no matter how badass you think you are, if a toddler hands you their ringing toy phone _you answer it_." –The Internet

_**Prologue: Ten Minutes To Five **_

Four-fifty struck in Teufort like it struck every day in Teufort.

That is to say, it struck with the vengeance of the RED Scout's prized baseball bat. As the BLU Soldier collapsed from the force of the swing, Scout allowed himself to do a victory dance of sorts. "Oooh yeah! Didya see that, doc?"

The RED Medic was a little preoccupied with trying to keep his teammates alive, but in any case he nodded as he and the Heavy ran past into the last frantic minutes of the fray. "Ja, ja, vunderbar, Scout! Now get moving!"

From the way Scout beamed, the Medic had just showered him in compliments. The speedster took off again, running literal circles around the competition. He jumped high into the late afternoon sky, and landed with a characteristic "BONK!" on the BLU Heavy's head. The lumbering Russian had just enough time to groan in pain and half-turn before Scout was off again, laughing like an idiot. "LOOK AT ME, MA!" he roared as he shot past the RED Engineer, who could only roll his eyes good-naturedly at his young teammate's display.

Something small and hot whistled past Scout and he yelped in pain, clutching his shoulder. A Sniper's bullet had grazed him. The look of surprise and pain on Scout's face twisted itself into a smirk. He spun on his heel, waving his arms in the vague direction of the origin of the bullet. "SNIPE THIS YA FRICKIN' COWARD!"

The BLU Sniper must have been taken aback by Scout's sudden bravado, for the boy was on the move again before the bullets started to rain down.

_Oh man, I am on fire today. And not like the horrific Pyro-inflicted fire either!_

Scout's stunningly stupid euphoria could be put down to a few simple reasons. First, he had only suffered a few minor wounds and scratches today, no nauseating Respawn for him! Second, it was Friday, which meant the weekend off and sleeping in. And boy oh boy, did Scout love sleeping in. And last, but perhaps most importantly, today was his twenty-first birthday. He could officially get as hammered as the Demoman and nobody could say a damn thing about it.

Scout was already planning his big night out, and so engrossed was he with his overactive imagination he didn't notice the BLU sentry gun until he had already rounded the corner at full speed. He yelped and grappled for his scattergun, bracing himself for the sensation of bullets ripping through his flesh.

It didn't come. Instead there was the unmistakable sound of shortening circuits and a sapped sentry.

Scout opened an eye (funny, he didn't recall shutting them in panic) and stared at the RED Spy. Spy wore a smug expression as he lit up a cigarette. "That should throw a wrench in their plans, non?"

"Thanks Frenchie!" Scout pocketed his gun with a sigh of relief. "I coulda handle it, though. The lucky streak I've been havin'—nothin' can go wrong for me. Well, nuh-tin ever goes wrong for me anyway, y'know? But you guys can see the master in action!" Still distracted, still grinning like a fool, Scout stepped over the downed sentry. He was about to take off again, but paused. "Hey, did I mention today is my birth—urk!"

White-hot pain washed across his back at the same time understanding slapped him in the face. All in all, a painful experience. He glanced back, suspicions confirmed when the crisp red suit took on a blue color. The BLU Spy's butterfly knife was jerked out of his back roughly and with a grunt Scout fell to his knees. With no time to think, no time to curse his sudden reversal in fortune, Scout grappled for his earpiece. "The frickin' Spy is a Spy!" he croaked, "Spy ain't one of us—"

He was cut off as a dark blue glove was clamped around his mouth. Out of the corner of Scout's eye he could just make out the tell-tale wisp of a cloaking device. "I was never on your side."

The Frenchman's hiss was the last thing Scout heard before his entire world went black.

* * *

That sound you just heard was me drop-kicking some game mechanics for the sake of the plot. Don't worry, this isn't the last we'll see of the BLUs. :)

Hope you liked it and stay tuned!

~Chaos


	2. An IttyBitty Problem

_****_Updating back-to-back because that's how I roll. *ahem* Anyway, here we go! And I can't go further without a huge thank-you to Belphegor for the foreign language advice and general comments that assured me that yes, indeed, I can write humor.

Adventure awaits! (No, not really).

* * *

_**Chapter One: An Itty-Bitty Problem**_

Meanwhile, the actual RED Spy was sitting up off of one of the beds in the Respawn Room, clutching at his balaclava and groaning. Coming back to life was neither a comfortable nor heavenly experience despite what Hollywood might think. Wave after wave of nausea hit him and he felt like he'd been hit by a two-ton truck.

Well, he _had_ been backstabbed by the BLU Spy and then caught in a firestorm between the BLU Pyro and their own Soldier as he bled out. He couldn't say for certain, but the experience could have been something like being hit by a truck.

Ignoring his headache, Spy glanced up at the ticking clock on the wall and sighed in relief. Only a few more minutes left in the day. He hesitantly hoisted himself off of the bed, still not completely trusting his limbs to get the job done. The wobbling in his legs was secondary to the scene replaying in his mind. How had the BLU Spy gotten the better of him? He was so careful, so quiet…

"Ah, Herr Spy, good of you to join me."

And now the Medic was getting the jump on him as well.

"Bonsoir, docteur." Spy nodded as he turned around, mollified in seeing he wasn't the only one who'd suffered a Respawn in the last few minutes. "What 'appened to you?"

"Ze BLU Sniper." Medic sighed as he pushed his glasses up his nose and hopped off his bed. "He is good, I vill give him credit vhere it is due. I only hope Herr Heavy is all right."

A faint swoosh signaled the beginning of Respawn. Medic peered at the table he'd previously occupied with worry, but relaxed as a lean, lanky body materialized. "Ack, it is just Scout—"

The gentle swooshing of Respawn suddenly became a violent screech. A faint explosion threw Spy and Medic backwards, the Frenchman instantly grabbing the doctor and pulling him further away from the epicenter. He pressed the Medic up against the wall even as he screwed his eyes shut against the harsh flashing light that followed the explosion. The air crackled and popped with electrical surges. Heat washed over both men and for a panicked instant Spy wondered if the entire base was going to go up in flames.

Then, as quickly as it happened, it stopped.

For a long moment both Medic and Spy remained frozen, breathing hard and listening to the distant whirring of machinery. Finally Medic scowled. "I am not a _Kind_, Spy, get off of me this instant!"

Spy ignored the indignant German as he stood, stepping cautiously back over to where Scout was.

Or, more accurately, where Scout should have been.

"Mon dieu!" Spy's eyes narrowed, "The boy 'as been vaporized!"

Indeed, there was nothing left of the RED Scout save for his clothes. The Medic stood slowly, grumbling about old age, and nudged the pile of clothes with his boot. His icy blue eyes were sorrowful for a moment. At his best Scout had been a nuisance, but his doves seemed to have taken a liking to the boy and the speedster was usually very gentle with them…

Then those eyes lit up again. "Vaporized! How intriguing! I vonder vat Scout felt in his last moments, oh, I vill have to start whole new experiments!" And with that he left the Respawn Room, muttering something about medicinal discoveries of the age.

Spy continued to stare down at the crumpled pile. He'd never liked Scout, but he never would have wish vaporization on him either. Well, maybe once or twice when the idiot spilled milk all over his expensive suits. Spy rubbed the back of his neck. He tried to think of something nice to say, but any and all eulogies that came to his mind involved taking potshots at Scout's virginity.

"Pauvre garçon," he mumbled, drawing his disguise kit/cigarette case out of one pocket and a lighter out of the other.

"Bat!"

The lighter froze a few inches away from the cigarette. Spy turned around slowly.

And there, wearing nothing but a black baseball cap, was a toddler. And not just any toddler, but an oddly familiar toddler with a buck-tooth grin and floppy Dumbo-like ears. His wide eyes took in Spy before the cap remembered it was too big for such a little head and slid down. As Spy watched, stunned, the buck-naked boy stood himself up on chubby legs and waddled over to the pile of clothes. From it he produced a baseball bat. "Boink," the boy chuckled as he plopped himself down.

_Merde alors… _Spy slapped a hand to his face. Oh, that 'boink' was all too familiar. Scout hadn't been killed after all—of course the boy couldn't do anything so simple as _die_. Scout grinned up at Spy. "Bat!" he exclaimed, struggling to hold up the heavy aluminum weapon.

Spy cursed inwardly. He'd never hear the end of it from the Engineer if he let a child wander around with weapons. He crouched down to eye-level with Scout. One gloved hand wrapped itself around the bat.

Having grown up with seven older brothers, Scout knew right away when someone was going to take his toys away. And this strange man with no face was not going to get his bat. "No." He clutched his toy closer. His eyes narrowed.

"Scout, you imbecile," Spy hissed, "give it to me before you 'urt yourself!"

Scout shrieked as Spy tried to tug the bat away. "NO! MINE!"

Fortunately Spy was spared a shouting match with a toddler by the Administrator's harsh voice booming a RED victory. Spy paused, smiling in spite of himself. His teammates were fools, but they were efficient fools. Scout had also frozen at the Administrator's voice, but instead of being placated he inched towards Spy.

"Zis day is just getting better and better!" Medic exclaimed from the resupply room.

Spy glanced between the bay doors and the little Scout before scooping the boy and his accessories up. The boy squawked and struggled to get out of Spy's arms, but the Frenchman held him firmly as he could. "Docteur… we 'ave a…eh…small problem."

Medic had been bustling about his locker, emptying it out for the weekend, but at Spy's words he glanced backwards. "Was ist das? Vhich of our teammates is father to a bouncing baby boy?"

"It's not—'e's not—no one is—_nom de Dieu, Scout, stop wriggling this instant before I drop you_!"

The Medic's perfectly groomed eyebrows shot up into his perfectly groomed hair. "Scout." He repeated flatly.

"Oui, docteur, it seems 'e was not vaporized at all…just, eh, shrunk."

"Shrunk? _Scout ist ein Kind_?" Medic's eyes widened in delight. "How intriguing! Und, er, Spy, you _are_ going to drop him if you hold him like that. Give him to me."

Anyone else on the RED team would've hesitated before handing a small child over to the resident crazy doctor. But there were few things Spy hated more than children, especially if said child was Scout, and handed him over without a qualm.

The Medic shushed the protesting Scout and repositioned him in his arms. "Oof, someone has been into the cookie jar. Ve should get him some clothes und see how much he remembers."

From Medic's arms Scout glared at Spy. Spy glared right back before tossing Scout's clothes at the Medic's feet. Medic smirked and placed Scout down on a bench. "Bat," Scout squeaked as he waved his favorite toy around.

"Ja, ja, Scout, your precious bat." Medic rolled his eyes as he picked up Scout's stained shirt. He pulled out a pair of scissors from his lab coat and set it work with a steady surgeon's hand. Both Scout and Spy watched with interest as Medic messily tailored the shirt into something manageable for their small charge.

"I did not know you sewed." Spy frowned.

"A small hobby to keep one's fingers flexible. Ah, zis looks good." He squeezed the makeshift shirt over Scout's head along with Scout's signature dogtags. He then replaced Scout's too-big cap on his head.

It slipped down again and Scout peeked out with a giggle. "Hi."

"Guten tag, Kind." Medic allowed himself a small smile. "Now, what's your name?"

"Scout." The boy pointed to himself proudly.

"Gut. Und I am?"

Scout stared at him with a puzzled expression until something caught his eye. He pointed to the stethoscope hanging from Medic's locker. "Wassat?"

"Scout," Medic pulled Spy over, "do you recognize this man?"

Scout tilted his head to the side. "Whosat?"

Medic sighed. Lost medical license or not, the German had a keen mind and could analyze a situation almost as well as the Engineer. He pushed his glasses up his nose as they slipped again. "He does not recognize us. It appears zat Respawn malfunctioned, und in ze process of healing our Scout it reverted him back to a younger age."

"But we are fine!" Spy gestured to himself and the doctor, "'ow could it 'ave effected only a single member of the team?"

Medic shrugged. "I have no idea. For now, ve will handle ze situation at hand. Ze rest of the team must be informed." He caught Scout as the little boy tried to scoot off of the bench. "As our chatty little friend would usually say 'Zank God for Friday', hm?"

Spy sighed as he patted around his suit for his cigarette case. He had a feeling he was going to need a whole lot more before the weekend ended.

* * *

Oh, Spy, you child-hater you. No rewards for guessing who's going to get some bonding time with Scout in the future. (Hint: It's not the Medic).

In the next chapter: cupcakes, conundrums, and cuteness! Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading. :)

~Chaos


	3. Meet Your New Scout

*****runs around in crazy circles* You guys are awesome! I had my fingers crossed for such a positive response but you guys seriously blew me away. Thank you all for the support! It means more than I can say. :)

So let's continue!

* * *

**Chapter Two: Meet Your New Scout**

"Heavy, you're the local expert on food." Engineer tapped the large Russian on the shoulder. "Tell me what ya think of this."

He produced a cupcake from behind his back. Heavy, who had been in the middle of constructing one of his 'sandviches', paused. His sky blue eyes took in the cupcake. It was the oddest color of puce, it sagged slightly in the middle, and it was sloppily smeared with orange frosting. In Soldier's unmistakable scrawl were the words "HAPY BIRTHDAE SCOOT". Heavy, who had been raised on the principle of "waste not" and to whom food poisoning had never been an issue, shrugged. "Looks like cupcake."

Engineer groaned as the Soldier roared in triumph from across the mess hall. "I TOLD YA, YA NANCY! THAT CUPCAKE IS FINE."

"Sol," Engineer buried his face in his hands, "you're gonna kill the kid if you give him that."

"THAT CUPCAKE WAS MADE WITH ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT AMERICAN SPIRIT! THE ONLY THING IT KILLS IS NAZIS AND COMMIES!"

From the depths of his evening bottle of Scrumpy's the Demoman snorted. "Tha' cupcake is pro'lly deadlier than ye, Sol."

Soldier shook a finger furiously at Demoman. "You're on my list, Cyclops!"

"Go back to yer tomato soup!" Sniper barked from his favorite corner of the room. He didn't even look up from the latest issue of Saxton Hale comics when Soldier turned to glare at him. "An' fer the record, Engie, I wouldn't feed that thing to the rabid wombat what killed my auntie, never mind Scout."

"Second opinion was all I needed." Engineer grinned. "Once Pyro gets here I'll have him—"

"Her."

"It."

"I'll have _Pyro_ incinerate it." Engineer set the cupcake down with an air of finality.

"NOOOOO—"

Engineer was saved Soldier's heavy-fisted American fury by the sound of a child's shriek and several colorful German curses. Everyone looked to the mess hall's double doors with interest. A split second later, a child came barreling through them, hanging onto a baseball cap and screaming like the Devil himself was after him. The child dove behind the Engineer as a snarling German burst through the doors. "To hell with ze Hippocratic oath, I am going to kill zat Scout—"

"NO!" The child roared from behind Engineer. "NO! NO!"

Medic's fingers twitched as he slowed to a halt. He took an ominous step towards the child.

"Doktor?" Heavy looked between the child and his good friend, "who is itty bitty baby belonging to?"

"All of us, I am afraid." Medic scowled. "Zat child is Scout."

A moment of puzzled silence ensued. When Medic's words sank in, though, all hell broke loose. "I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE—" "That wee little thing is Scout?" "Haha! Scout really is baby!" "_What kinda weird-ass experiments_ _were ya doin' on the boy, doc_?" "NONONONONON!"

Medic stared at the rowdy lot with ice in his eyes until the shouts died down. "Believe me, if I had been experimenting on Scout I vould not have turned him into something so useless—or so bitey—as a child. Respawn malfunctioned."

Engineer swore under his breath. "Aw, hell, I knew that system was due for an update."

"But we have respawned all day." Heavy rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Rest of team is fine."

"Scout didn't." Demoman snapped his fingers. "I heard 'im braggin' about it. He didn't die once today, 'cept at the end."

Medic shrugged. "I am only reporting vat Spy und I saw."

Demoman thought some more. "Hold on a mo', are ye sayin' tha' the next person to die an' respawn is gonna end up like tha'?" He pointed almost accusingly at Scout. The boy, still taking refuge behind Engineer, followed the conversation with wide but puzzled eyes.

"I have no idea." Medic snapped. "But ve have the weekend to fix him. Hopefully you Scheißekopf can avoid dying on your days off, hm?"

Engineer felt a tug on his overalls. Glancing down he found Scout putting both hands up into the air imploringly. "Uppy!"

The burly Texan sighed and obeyed. With Scout wrapped around his neck he found it difficult to clear his throat. "Should we, er, let his mama know?"

Sniper, who'd been silent thus far, snorted. 'That's a great idea. 'Listen, we really sorry but when we hired yer boy we left out the vital detail about dyin' on a daily basis. The system that brings yer boy back to life went on the blink, so have a jolly ol' time wastin' the rest of yer good years raisin' the brat all over again—"

"And 'ow would you know Scout's maman still 'as good years left, bushman?" Spy materialized beside Sniper, planting a hand on the Australian's shoulder. Sniper glared up at him and Spy glared right back.

"Don't you two start," Engineer growled, "I don't want anyone brawlin' with a kid around." He swatted Scout's hand away as the boy gave his goggles a good tug.

"It's Scout," Soldier exclaimed, "he's seen plenty of glorious battles!"

Medic shook his head. "He does not remember any of zem. He is a child in every sense of ze vurd." With a heavy expression he sat down next to the literal Heavy, who gave the Medic's shoulder a sympathetic clap.

"Well," Engineer cleared his throat again, "we should introduce ourselves, shouldn't we?" He planted Scout down on one of the long tables. "Scout, you can call me Engie." He stuck his hand out for Scout to shake.

Instead Scout plopped himself down on the table. "Bat." He pointed to the bat in Spy's free hand (the other was still gripping Sniper like a vice).

"Our young friend 'as a one-track mind." Spy explained. "As always." He tossed the bat to Engineer, who caught it and held it out to Scout. "What's my name, Scout?"

Scout frowned up at the round friendly face. "Engie." He said at last. Then he pointed to Medic. "Doca." His slim finger moved back to Engineer. "Engie."

"Doca?"

"It is his vurd for doctor." Medic mumbled. At that, Heavy and Demoman roared with laughter. Scout giggled too.

"It's a start." Engineer assured the exasperated German. "Who else do you know, Scout?"

Scout bit his lip before pointing at Spy. "Spoi!"

"Spoi?" Now it was Sniper's turn to smirk. "I never thought you'd lower yourself to such adorableness, spook." He pushed Spy's hand off his shoulder and stood. "Scout, the name's Sniper."

"Nipe!" Scout grinned.

It took longer than expected, but eventually the little guy had a version of each of his teammates down. Soldier became "Solly" (Soldier had protested at first, claiming it was too close to Sally for his manhood to allow), Demoman was "De-mo", and Heavy was still "'eavy." Each time he learned a name he went around the room again, scrunching his little face up as he memorized each man. It was very hard work for a toddler and (at Engineer's instance) they cheered him along the way.

Heavy chortled. "Is just like big Scout. Always needing the praise."

At that moment, the doors to the mess hall opened once more. Pyro, everyone's favorite masked maniac, stepped in. The tune Pyro had been whistling died upon seeing a child in the midst of the REDs. The firebug tilted his head to the side in confusion. "Mmpf mffph mmm?"

Engineer nodded. "That's about right, Pyro. Scout went and got himself turned into a kiddo."

When Pyro had entered Scout went still. He stared at the masked face and blank eye sockets with clear fear. He whimpered when Pyro approached. "Aw, don't worry, Scout." Engineer assured him, "Pyro ain't gonna hurt ya. He—"

"She." "It."

Engineer glared at Soldier and Demoman before continuing: "_Pyro_ just wants to say hi."

Pyro gave a little wave, but Scout whined. The little boy's bottom lip began to tremble. Pyro stopped a few feet short of Scout. Then the firebug snapped its gloved fingers before pulling a bottle of bubble soap out of its belt.

When Scout was peppered with bubbles he shrieked and swatted them with glee. "Again!"

Pyro seemed to squeak with delight. The masked enigma started showering the boy in loads of bubbles.

"Why th' bloody hell does Pyro 'ave bubble soap?"

"Why _wouldn't_ Pyro have bubble soap?"

"Pydo!" Scout yelled as he showered once again in bubbles. "Pydo!"

Engineer relaxed a tad. "Looks like we're all reacquainted. Now, I've got to get a look at that Respawn system to see just what went wrong. Who wants babysitting duty?"

Pyro raised its hand, but as Engineer's eyes swept around the room they seemed to mysteriously fail to see Pyro. The rest of the RED team averted their gaze. No one noticed Scout slipping off the table on his own.

Engineer's eyes traveled around the room. "All right, then. I'll chose. Spy, you've got him."

"Eh, no." Spy popped a lit cigarette into his mouth as he spoke. "'e is not mine, ergo, I will not be watching 'im."

"He is yours, Spy. He's all of ours!" Engineer snaked his thumbs around his overall straps. "Like it or not, Scout's a part of the REDs. We're gonna look out for him same as we always do."

"The grease monkey is right!" Soldier slammed his fist down the table. "We're a bunch of fighters, not those cowardly Canadians who run and hide! If we can face the magnificence of bloody battle and come out swingin' we can watch a baby! A REAL MAN NEVER BACKS DOWN FROM A CHALLENGE."

"Engie! Ball!"

Scout had toddled across the mess hall, retrieving a stray baseball from under one of the tables. He held it up proudly in one hand, still clutching his bat with the other. His chubby little legs wobbled from the effort of standing and he plunked himself down. His baseball cap slipped down over his face once more. "Bonk!"

Had that moment been recorded, it would have gone down in history as "The Moment Seven Manly Guys And One Pyro Were Defeated By A Two-Year-Old's Adorableness". Fortunately for the dignity of the REDs, the moment was not recorded and quickly forgotten when Demoman burped and stood. "I'll take 'im fer the night, lads. I'll be up late anyway. C'mere, ya scampering tyke."

"Not a drop of alcohol, Demo." Engineer warned.

"Gimme more credit than that, toymaker," Demoman hefted a yawning Scout up into his arms, "I know a wee bit more about kiddos than ye might think. In fact, I think I might be the only one here qualified to look after the boy!" Only Spy noticed Sniper starting to say something, but hastily closing his mouth as Demoman chattered on: "Let's go get ye ready fer bed. An' ta think I was goin' to take ye out fer a wild night on the town! Happy twenty-first, lad!"

With that, boy and Scottish cyclops left the mess hall. Engineer sighed. "Y'all had better come with me, doc, you know that medical bay almost as well as I do."

"Ja, ja." Medic stood and stretched.

For a while now Heavy had been silent, eyes cast to the ceiling in quiet thought. "Toymaker…"

"Yeah, big fella?"

"I am wondering if we should tell…" Heavy swallowed, "_her_ about itty-bitty Scout."

There was no need to ask who 'her' was. Engineer's face paled sharply and he exchanged a few looks with Medic and Pyro. "Nah, big fella, I'd much rather leave _her_ out of it for as long as possible."

"She will find out." Heavy warned.

Spy sucked at his cigarette, eying the dog end with a hint of sorrow. "She always finds out."

* * *

Who on earth could they be talking about! And so the mysteries deepen!

In the next chapter: Demoman gets more than he bargained for, Scout is an adorable brat, and a lesson is learned about mixing children with caffeine.

Oh! Fun fact! Did you know that reviews power Pyro's bubblemaker? It's been scientifically proven by myself and several squirrels. :P

Regardless, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

~Chaos


	4. Things That Go Bonk In The Night

_****_Blargh. Okay, three things:

**One**, thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/put on alert. 'Cause you guys are _awesome. _And thanks to Sir or Missus Anonymous Reader who passively clicks through the chapters. Yeah, I know who you are. I check my story stats. But you're still reading this. So thanks. Really, I don't know how/why this silly little story got so popular but I don't want to find out just yet.

**Two**, I hate this chapter. I wanted to try my hand at a Demoman who wasn't angry/drunk and I feel he's a bit OOC here, I don't know. And then I ran out of steam at the end. Next chapter will be better. I promise.

**Three**, another huge thank you to my betas Belphegor and RiRi, who catch my silly mistakes, and a thank-you to my nieces and nephews, whose adorable demeanors I've been steadily stealing from. :3

**I should probably start adding the disclaimer telling you all I don't TF2. If I did this story would have 300% more hats. **

* * *

_**Chapter Three: Things That Go Bonk In the Night**_

There was no denying Demoman had had a peculiar and interesting childhood. His time spent in the Crypt Grammar School for Orphans had been full of misadventures, including looking after the wee ones when he wasn't playing with explosive materials. Hell, he'd been put in charge of the wee ones even _when_ experimenting with explosive materials. He was accustomed to children, far more than anyone might believe.

Besides, he liked Scout. The boy reminded Demoman of his own wild youth. So, instead of getting annoyed when Scout began to poke at his eyepatch, Demoman simply chuckled and shifted the boy in his arms. "Curious lil' thing, aren't we?"

He was walking slowly up the stairs to the long hallway where the team's bedrooms were located—all save Sniper, who lived out of his van, and Medic, who spent most of his free time in his lab. Scout's room was located at the very end of the hall. Despite the situation, Demoman was eager to see the speedster's bedroom. Loudmouth brat or not, Scout was very private about his personal space.

Demoman gleefully remembered the time Scout had caught Spy snooping about his room. It'd taken himself, Heavy, and Engineer to lift Scout off of a bloodied and indignant Spy: "_And if ya ever touch my frickin' baseball cards again, I'll kill ya dead ya shapeshiftin' rat_!"

"De-mo," present-day Scout tugged on his vest, "wassat?"

"Tha's ye room, Scout!"

With that, Demoman flung open the door and stopped in the threshold of Scout's room in amazement.

His room was certainly… _cleaner_ than what he expected. The walls were painted an eye-searing shade of red, plastered with baseball memorabilia and pictures torn from Playboy magazines. There was a full bookshelf pushed up against one wall and the bed was made neatly. A dresser next to the bed was organized carefully; the odds and ends on it in such pristine condition one might think they were priceless treasures. The floor was free of litter, although the trashcan was full to the brim with that Atomic Punch stuff Scout liked so much.

Feeling suddenly guilty about the sorry state of his own room, Demoman set Scout down and allowed him to explore the bedroom. Scout gave it an once-over before toddling over to the bed. He dropped down, pulled out a box, and dumped its contents all over the floor. What looked to be a thousand baseball cards slid onto the floor. "Cahds." He explained to the bemused Demoman.

"Ye sure do have a lot," Demoman commented, unsure of what else to say. He'd never understood Scout's fascination with baseball.

Scout shrugged as he ran his hand through the enormous pile. Most of the cards were encased in protective sleeves, and Scout rummaged through them for a time before pulling one card out in particular. He held it up with the shy smile of someone showcasing his prized possession.

Demoman tilted his head to the side as he studied the card. He didn't recognize the serious-looking fellow with neat parted hair. "Who is he?" he asked politely.

"Cy!" Scout exclaimed. "Ball!"

Indeed, the name on the card read 'Cy Young'. Who, as far as Demoman knew, could have been Joe-Shmoe or his second cousin. But it was clear that this person was very important to Scout as he hefted himself up and placed the card tenderly by his pillow. Then the boy settled himself down in the middle of his giant mess.

For a time Demoman was content to watch as Scout sorted his cards into little towers (although he couldn't make heads or tails of how Scout was sorting them), and when Scout was out of cards, he knocked the little piles over with relish, cards fluttering around him. The process would begin all over again.

Finally Demoman inched over to examine Scout's bookshelf. Naturally there was no classic literature to be found—only dirty magazines and books on baseball. _The lad does have a one-track mind! _

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed what looked to be a photo album tucked away on the bottommost shelf. Demoman itched to take a look at it, but he knew full well Scout would never forgive him if he knew Demoman had gone through his belongings.

"Uh… De-mo."

_Bloody hell! The boy knows more than 'e's lettin' on!_ Demoman whirled around, clapping his hands behind his back and smiling sheepishly. That smile faded when he saw Scout dancing around in a circle, knees bent in and hands wrapped around his tummy. _Uh-oh_.

Knowing full well he'd be the poor bastard cleaning the floors if Scout had an accident, Demoman scooped him up, burst out of the room, down the hall, and all but threw the toddler into the tiny bathroom everyone shared. He sank to the ground, gasping with relief. That'd been close. Too close. He just hoped Scout remembered his potty-training lessons.

He crossed his legs and rested his head against the bathroom door, half-listening to the low conversations carrying on downstairs. All of a sudden another, closer voice caught his ear. A stream of jumbled, nonsense words to the tune of _Frère Jacques _was emitting from the bathroom. Demoman clapped both hands to his mouth. Oh, there was no way he was going to let the lad live this one down.

Downstairs the low conversations were growing heated and loud, exploding into shouts:

"YOU GOT BLOOD ON MY SUIT YOU OUTBACK BARBARIAN!"

"NEXT TIME LEAVE ME MUM OUTTA THE CONVERSATION, WANKA!"

"MMMPHF MMMM PFFFT"

"YOU ARE ALL YELLING AND SO I WILL YELL ALSO!"

Demoman groaned and hefted himself to his feet. He leaned over the top of the stairs and shouted down: "OI! DON'T YOU LOT MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE!"

The shouts died down, save for Soldier, who started a rant on "not taking orders from an Englishman in a dress". There was the unmistakable sound of a coffee cup being smashed against a helmet, and all was quiet.

Really, it was just another peaceful night for the RED team.

Demoman sighed and went back to the bathroom door. He rapped on it politely with his knuckles. "Scout? Ye done?"

"Yeah."

Demoman slowly opened the door. Then promptly burst into laughter when his good eye found Scout. He fell to his knees, laughing so hard his vision blurred with tears.

Somehow the boy had gotten into the small supply closet. Now everything in the bathroom was sprayed with shaving cream, including Scout himself. The little boy had opted for a foamy beard and a head full of fluffy white hair. "Ta-da," Scout sang softly as he spun in a circle.

Demoman pulled himself to his feet, wiping away a tear of mirth. "Tha's very good, lad. Now, let's get ye cleaned up 'fore the doctor finds this mess." He led Scout over the sink and started to wash the foam away, but didn't get very far before Scout decided this was a game and wiggled out of his grasp, forcing Demoman to chase him around the tiny room.

By the time Scout was clean, both he and Demoman were soaking wet and gasping for breath. Scout looked up at Demoman hopefully. "Again?"

"No, no' tonight," Demoman wiped a layer of sweat off his brow, "time fer bed, I'm thinkin'."

"Awww."

"None o' this 'awwww' nonsense, boyo, it's past yer bedtime!"

"Not tired." Scout pouted.

"Well, I am." With that Demoman grabbed Scout by the scruff of the neck and carried him like a bedraggled, grumpy kitten back to his bedroom. "Ye had a long day, time ta get some rest." He planted the boy down on his bed.

Scout considered Demoman for a long moment, a shrewd expression on his face. "Story."

"I'm a busy man, Scout, I ain't got time fer stories!"

"Story." Scout crossed his arms over his chest. There was a long pause as toddler and demolitions expert entered a staring contest. Scout's bottom lip jutted out. His chin wobbled. And he was turning the most alarming shade of red, almost as red as the walls surrounding them. He opened his mouth to scream—

"Very well!" Demoman threw his hands into the air, knowing he'd never hear the end of it if Scout pulled a temper tantrum on his watch. "I go' one story, jus' one! An' if ye get nightmares don't come runnin' ta me!"

Scout let out all of his collected air in a contented sigh. He grabbed his Cy Young baseball card and burrowed under the covers. Demoman sat down at the end of the bed. "T'was all Hallow's Eve," he began with a glint in his eye, "the only night spirits are free ta roam…"

Scout shivered with anticipation. He scooted down and clutched Cy Young closer, convinced this was going to be good.

**...**

Looking back, Demoman had to admit Scout was a good audience. He had gasped and cheered in all the right places, even hid under the covers at one point. And, just as promised, he'd settled down to sleep immediately after.

Demoman allowed himself a pat on the back. He doubted even Engineer could have done such a bang-up job.

He was sitting in his own room, affectionately known as the 'Red Shed' due to the sheer amount of boxes stacked along the walls. Unlike Scout, Demoman didn't have much in the way of decoration. Demoman used his personal space strictly as a workspace. Currently he was muttering to himself, drawing complex diagrams for a new recipe of sticky bombs (after all, he hadn't aced high school chemistry because he found ionic bonds fascinating). Just when he thought he had the perfect set of ingredients, a faint knock on his door jolted him out of his thought process.

Demoman glanced up, wincing at the crick in his neck. It was nearly one-thirty in the morning, who on earth—?

"De-mo?"

Ah. Of course. Demoman stood, stretched, and opened the door. "Wot can I do fer ye, laddie?"

Scout stared up at him, the thumb of one hand stuck in his mouth, the fingers of the other curled around Cy Young's baseball card. With a pop Scout removed his thumb from his mouth. "Hungee."

"Ye want a snack?"

"Yeah."

Oh, what the hell. He could use a midnight snack as a well. He bundled the boy into his arms and descended downstairs as quietly as possible. No need to wake the rest of the team at this ungodly hour. "So, Scout, m'boy," Demoman glanced around the mess hall, "wot would ye like?"

Silently Scout pointed to the refrigerator.

For a bunch of guys, they kept the fridge surprisingly clean. Whether the blame lay with Heavy's obsession with good food, Medic's stereotypical need for cleanliness, or Engineer's love of order, the fridge was in a sickeningly sterile state, with all of the groceries organized by food group and labeled in the Engineer's careful handwriting.

"How 'bout a nice glass of juice?" Demoman asked.

Scout shook his head and pointed to the back of the fridge. "Want."

At the back of the fridge was a full case of BONK! Atomic Punch. Demoman frowned. "Eh, I'd rather ye no', kiddo. Tha' ain't good fer ye. Let's have some juice."

Scout frowned and leaned forward. "Want."

"_I said no_."

"WANT."

"Yer no' getting' it, Scout."

Scout studied Demoman for a long moment, eyes watering with frustrated tears. His little face scrunched itself up. He took a deep breath and held it.

Demoman arched an eyebrow. "Wot are ye doin'?"

Scout didn't answer. He kept holding his breath.

A lightbulb went off in Demoman's head. He set Scout down on a table, where the boy crossed his arms and sat. "Fine. Yer no' getting' it. I dunnae care if ye turn blue. Tha' sorta drink ain't good fer ya, 'specially no' at this time o' night." He pulled a carton of orange juice from the fridge, grabbed a clean glass from the overhead cupboard, and started to pour. When the silence became overwhelming, Demoman glanced over his shoulder.

Scout was rapidly turning the promised shade of blue, and was steadily moving towards purple. He showed no signs of stopping.

Demoman downed his glass of juice, lamented it would've tasted better with a shot of vodka, and considered Scout, who had officially made it to purple. He had two options: one, let Scout have his way, or two, explain to his coworkers why Scout had died of self-inflicted oxygen deprivation.

He was considering which would be the lesser of the two evils when Scout started to sway. Demoman groaned. "Fine, fine, you can have a wee pinch o' Bonk."

Scout replied by taking a huge gasp of air and clapping his hands together.

Demoman grabbed a can and snapped it open. "Say 'thank you'."

"Tank you." Scout answered with a solemn expression even as he eyed the red can in Demoman's hand.

"Close enough. Only a sip, mind."

Scout took a small sip, smacking his lips at the cherry flavor. "Yum!"

"Good. Now, would ye like some toast o' something?" Demoman set the can well out of Scout's reach and turned back to the cupboards, wondering if anyone had gone to the store lately. As such, he didn't notice Scout suddenly starting to quiver, his eyes lighting up.

"De-mo…"

"Yeah, lil' fella?"

As far as Demoman had been concerned, bouncing off the walls was a metaphor, or otherwise something only seen in cartoons. He'd seen plenty of people thrown against walls, or crash into them. But bouncing had never been plausible until now.

Scout roared and seemed to shoot off in all directions at once. With a scream of pure delight he ran in circles around the mess hall. "MEEP MEEP!" Scout bounced through the air, dove through the double doors, and was already wrecking havoc before poor Demoman could even piece together what was happening. "LOOKA MA! LOOKA!"

He sprang into action, running after Scout as the boy entered the recreation room. It should've been easy enough to catch the toddler, but…

_Scout was fast_.

So fast, in fact, he was nothing more than a scarlet blur spinning around the rec room, crashing into pool tables and knocking over chairs. A rough chorus of crazed screams shook the room.

Demoman stuck out his foot.

A split second later Scout was propelled into the air. He landed face-first in the carpet with a yelp of pain. His little limbs shook for a moment longer, and then he was still.

"And tha'," Demoman snorted, "is why I didnae want to give ye the Bonk."

Scout didn't move. He was still laying face-down, completely still.

Demoman stepped over and nudged the boy with his boot. "Scout? Ye all right?" For some reason his heart was pounding loudly in his chest. His hands shook as he went to turn the boy right-side up. He was already explaining what had happened to the others in his head: _T'weren't me, honest! T'was the isotopes what killed him…_

Scout let out a huge snore. Demoman sighed in relief. Scout wasn't dead; he had just gone and knocked himself out. Caffeine could do that to a kid. Cursing Scout and wondering whether his mother had had the same issues with him, Demoman scooped the boy up and carried him back to his room. He tucked Scout it, placed his Cy Young baseball card by his head, and settled down on the floor just in case the lad woke up.

However, Scout wasn't the only one who had had a long day. Before long Demoman was asleep as well, stretched out on the floor of Scout's room. He would remain there until morning, when Soldier made his wake-up rounds and found him.

* * *

This chapter. This chapter is over. And done with! Hooray. Next one will be better, I promise. :)

Next up: Soldier discovers Sun Tzu never wrote anything on childcare, Spy continues his quest to win "Jerk of the Week", and Engie initiates a critical part of the plot. (What? You didn't think this was going to be a romp through Teufort with the boys, did you? There's a plot! There will be character development! There will be explosions! There will be blood! And I'm not talking "Daniel Day-Lewis and his mustache drill oil" There Will Be Blood, I'm talkin' "Get your buckets and umbrellas ready people, 'cause _there will be blood!_)

:3 Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

~Chaos


	5. The Art of Childcare

Hi again. :) I'd really like to thank you all for the wonderful reviews/follows/favorites. Real life pulled a fast one on me this week, so every time I got an alert for this story it was like a life-preserver in the great sea of life. Thanks so much!

Remember that blood I promised? It's not in this chapter. It's not in the next one, either. But it's coming, trust me! I really hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Nope. Still don't own TF2.**

* * *

_**Chapter Four: The Art of Childcare**_

Engineer was among the first in the mess hall that morning, munching on a piece of toast and doodling on a piece of paper. To the uninformed it would appear as though he was completely at ease. But anyone on RED would've known better—his goggles and hard hat were off, a faint crease had appeared between his eyes, and his tongue stuck out a bit. The Engineer was hard at work.

He'd spent all night and most of the early morning in the medical bay, trying to learn the ins and outs of the Respawn system. It was very sophisticated technology, even for a man with eleven PHDs in hard science. Medic had done what he could, rummaging through old files and blueprints for something that might help.

For eight whole hours they worked to figure out how Scout could have possibly been turned into a child, and neither had anything to show for it save the bags under their eyes. But there was no giving up. An Engineer was nothing if not stubborn.

"Do ye want some cereal?"

"No."

"Do ye want some toast?"

"No."

"Do ye want some eggs?"

"Yeah."

"Do ye _really_ want the eggs?"

"No."

Demoman threw his hands into the air. "I give up."

Scout copied his actions. "Up!" The stack of books acting as a high chair wobbled. Scout lowered his hands and gave Demoman a smarmy grin.

"This kid won't eat." Demoman jerked a thumb towards Scout.

Engineer arched his eyebrows. Usually the boy was eating the team out of metaphorical house and home. "Don't look at me. I've got work to do." He slipped his pencil behind his ear and stood as he spoke.

"Ye crack the code yet, toymaker?"

"I'm close." Engineer would never admit otherwise. "Very close."

"Good."

They both looked at Scout, who had somehow gotten his hands on a pen and was now covering the table surface in scribbles. Scout pointed to a huge circle he'd drawn. "Ball!"

Demoman threw Engineer a "please-help-me-I'm-dying-here" look, but his stalwart companion grabbed his supplies and booked it out of the mess hall as fast as his legs could carry him. Cursing Engineer a thousand times under his breath, Demoman poked at his bland breakfast cereal.

"De-mo, ball!"

"Aye, Scout, that's a ball—"

"That doesn't look anything like a baseball! If you're going to play America's sport, son, the least you can do it is get it right!"

Soldier strode through the double doors like a man on a mission. He saluted the mismatched pair on his way to the fridge.

"Hi Solly!" Scout waved.

"Good morning, private!" Soldier's voice was dimmed over the clatter he was making as he searched through the fridge. A plate of cold ribs beckoned to him, and when he reemerged he was already gnawing on one.

"Want." Scout pointed to the plate of ribs.

Demoman growled. "Hell no, Scout, yer no' gettin' tha'. Ye need a proper breakfast."

Scout snorted as he resumed his task of covering the entire table in black ink.

"'e won't eat." Demoman explained to Soldier in a plaintive voice.

Soldier finished chewing and swallowing before he decided to reply: "When I was his age we ate orange peels for breakfast! _And we liked it_. Children are like prisoners of war, Cyclops. If you don't give them options they'll listen to you."

It was probably the first and last time anyone would compare children to POWs, but Demoman didn't savor his lucky opportunity. Instead he rested his chin in his hand. "Go on then," he gestured to Scout.

"Scout, you're going to eat cereal and you're going to like it."

Scout followed Demoman's example and rested his chin in his hand. "No."

"Fine. Then you'll get nothing and like it. Cyclops, he's not eating for the rest of the day."

"Come off it, Sol, you can't do tha' to the kid! Here," he pushed his cereal towards Scout, "see if you can get him to eat tha'."

Scout stuck out his tongue at the soggy oats. He glared at Soldier in defiance.

"Eat it, maggot." Soldier snarled. "Or else."

Against all good reason Demoman felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. "O' else wot?"

"Or else he'll get a spanking so hard his great-grandpappy will feel it! Eat the cereal, boy, and thank America while you're at it!"

The look on Scout's face was one of mixed astonishment, disbelief, and respect. He hesitated, glanced towards Demoman (who smiled with a glint in his eye), and popped a piece of cereal into his mouth. Scout chewed slowly as he studied the grim-faced Soldier. He hadn't even swallowed before he reached for another piece of cereal.

"I'll give it to ye, Sol," Demoman said slowly, "ye go' 'im ta eat."

"Brute force works every time." Soldier replied as he sank his teeth into another rib.

"So ye wouldn't mind lookin' after 'im, then?" Demoman pressed.

"Ha! It'd be easy!"

At that moment Soldier's oversized helmet slipped over his eyes. He grumbled, tossed his head back to fix the pesky helmet and nearly choked on his ribs as consequence. Once he had himself situated, Soldier was surprised to find himself alone with Scout. There was no sign of Demoman save the swinging double doors.

"Where's the Cyclops?" Soldier demanded to know.

Scout shrugged his shoulders up and down. "Dunno."

"Hmmm. Tricky Scottish bastard. Well, short pants, looks like it's just you and me and old Sun Tzu."

"Zoo?" Scout's eyes brightened.

"He's only the greatest warrior ever to have lived, short pants! Finish your breakfast and I'll teach you all about the wonder of Sun Tzu!"

"ZOO!" And with that, Scout gobbled up the rest of his cereal. He looked up to Soldier with a huge grin on his face, bits of oats plastered to his chin. "Zoo?"

Soldier nodded. "Come with me, son."

Scout carefully lowered himself to the floor and toddled over to Soldier. "Uppy!"

Soldier scowled. "None of this coddling 'uppy' stuff! Real men walk! And if he didn't have legs, a real man would drag himself wherever he needed to go…erm…"

The instant he realized Soldier wasn't going to carry him, Scout's bottom lip had begun to quiver. His eyes went wide as saucers. His messy brown hair seemed to wilt. His entire body sank over into a pathetic bow like a depowered robot.

Soldier glanced around the mess hall with an expression of guilt. Though they were completely alone, Soldier couldn't help but feel like he had just kicked a puppy and the police would be bearing down on him at any moment. He looked back down at the sagging Scout, wondering if jail time was worth it. Apparently it wasn't, as Soldier griped to himself when he leaned down to pick up the boy, hoisting Scout onto his shoulders in order to give him a piggy back ride.

Scout perked up immediately. "Horsey! Giddiup!"

"Do I look like a horse to you—OW!" Soldier yelped as Scout dug his heels into Soldier's side.

"Giddiup!"  
"You are a disgrace to this team, private—OW!"

"_Giddiup!_"

Naturally Soldier did what any self-respecting man would have done.

He caved in.

"Neigh! I am a horsey! A terrifying horsey of the Apocalypse!" Soldier roared, galloping around the mess hall while Scout shrieked with glee. "I have a mane of fire and eyes that glow like the fires of hell! ROAR!" He was really starting to get into character now. Horses, he supposed, were very horrifying and manly animals. "NEIGH! FEAR ME!"

And poor, poor Pyro didn't know what to think when it walked on this scene.

Soldier slowed to a standstill, staring at Pyro in undisguised horror. From his perch on Soldier's shoulders Scout waved. "Hi Pydo!"

Pyro waved back before inching past Soldier. Soldier's gaze followed the firebug. "It's not what you think," he started, "the kid wanted me to—"

Pyro twirled its hand around as if to say 'I get it'. The short fellow stood on tiptoes to reach for the marshmallow cereal hidden at the back of the cupboard.

"Pydo," Scout began eagerly, "zoo!"

"Mph?" Pyro inquired as it shook its breakfast into a bowl. It glanced Soldier's way. "Mphf pft mmm?"

Unfortunately the only one who had ever had any luck at deciphering Pyro's mumbled attempts at speech was Engineer. But Soldier would shot himself in the foot before he would admit he didn't know what Pyro was saying, so he opted for a glower as a reply. "This is America, son, we speak American!"

Pyro slapped a hand to its mask. "Pffro mroo mrm." From Soldier's shoulders Scout nodded in agreement.

"I will not take lip from you, soldier!"

"Solly," Scout tugged on the strap of Soldier's helmet, "zoo?"

"What? Oh, er, yeah! Say, Pyro, would you like to hear my latest lecture on Sun Tzu? This one's gonna be a doozy."

Pyro shook its head. It'd been roped into more of Soldier's so-called 'lectures' more often than it cared to admit. It pointed to its marshmallow cereal instead.

Soldier huffed. From his shoulders Scout huffed too. "Fine, if your breakfast is more important to you than learning how to survive in battle."

Pyro nodded. Breakfast was very important.

"Zoo, Solly, zoo." Scout continued to tug at the helmet strap with a whine. "Zoo now!"

"Mfft phro." Pyro shook its finger at Scout in a scolding manner. "Please!"

Scout groaned. "Pease, Solly? Pease zoo?"

"Yeah, yeah, Tzu. C'mon, short pants. Let's leave Smokey Joe here to his—erm, her—ah, its breakfast."

Pyro appeared to roll its eyes—at any rate it made a dramatic head roll—and retreated to a corner of the room to enjoy its breakfast in peaceful solitude. Soldier saluted Pyro and strode out the door. Scout had just enough time to swivel around and snap a hand to his forehead before he disappeared.

Soldier marched down the corridor as Scout swayed back and forth on his shoulders, singing a song consisting solely of the word 'zoo'. "Zoozoozoooooozoozoozooo…"

"Hush up there! We're not a bunch of chorus girls, Scout!"

Scout ignored him. For an instant an internal debate raged within Soldier, wondering whether he had it in him in all his glorious manliness to yell at a child for singing. Apparently he didn't, for the internal debate ended as quickly as it had started, and all Soldier could do was groan.

And so the little ditty continued out into the courtyard, where Soldier lifted Scout off of his shoulders and set him on the low fence. Scout clung to the wood as he glanced around. This didn't look like any zoo he'd ever been to. He looked to Soldier with a confused little frown.

The Mid-Westerner didn't notice his charge's look as he pulled his tattered copy of the _Art of War_ out of his jacket. "Today we are going to learn why Spies are completely useless." He held the book up to his face and flipped through it. "Chapter Eight: The Use of Spies…"

"Solly…" Scout began slowly, the frown deepening.

"Spies—cannot be—_usefully employed_. There! You have it from ol' Tzu himself!"

Scout did what looked to be a double-take. His head tilted so far to the side it was almost touching his shoulder. He continued to stare at Soldier with a suspicious frown. He was about to pull the 'turn tomato red and scream' tactic on Soldier for not taking him to the zoo, when suddenly something past Soldier caught Scout's attention. Scout's eyes lit up and he straightened. "Solly…"

"Spies cannot be properly managed—"

"Uh…Solly…"

"One cannot make certain truth of their reports…"

"_Solly!_"

"Be subtle…no, wait, that can't be right…"

Scout gave up and waved. "Hi Spoi!"

This caught Soldier's attention far and above anything Scout might have shouted. He jolted and spun around, clasping Art of War to his chest in a protective fashion.

Sure enough, there was Spy, leaning against a wall, doing…whatever it was a Spy did on his day off. The Frenchman's gray-blue eyes took in Soldier and Scout for a long moment before speaking. "Clearly your talents are better suited for classroom, _Solly_." The nickname came out as a sneer.

"Spoi," Scout started with a sour expression, "Solly no zoo!" He pointed to the book.

Scout's words shook Soldier out of his stupor. He snarled. "That's right, crouton. I'm reading the true word of," he held up the _Art of War_ and shook it, "the master himself—HEY!"

Spy had swiped the book away, flipping through the pages dismissively. "Therefore soldiers must be treated at first with humanity, but kept under control by means of iron discipline. This is a certain road to victory. Also, the RED Soldier is a useless eediot and Scout smells like sour milk."

"IT DOES NOT SAY THAT!" Soldier jumped forward, grabbing for his book. The taller Spy held it just out of his reach.

Scout, meanwhile, just looked confused. "Spoi, Solly no zoo!" he repeated, wondering why on earth Spy wasn't as upset with Soldier as he was.

Spy barely acknowledged Scout's existence as he pranced around the courtyard, playing keep-away with the _Art of War_. The far-less graceful Soldier lumbered after him, bellowing obscenities at the top of his lungs and threatening Spy with every bodily harm imaginable. Those words became one incoherent cry of fury and panic when Spy tossed the book over Soldier's head.

It landed at Scout's feet, dusty but otherwise unharmed. The way Soldier screamed, though, one might have thought Spy had just backstabbed his mother. He snatched the book up out of the offending earth, wiping it hurriedly.

"Oh, please," Spy snarled, "get a 'old of yourself." He would have said more, but there was a slight tugging at his pant leg.

Scout looked up at Spy with a faint smile. "Uppy!"

"You are going to stain my suit," Spy replied with ice in his voice, "let go." He leaned down and ever-so-gently pushed Scout away.

Nevertheless Scout stumbled backwards and fell onto his backside. He stared at Spy with a stunned expression. "Uppy?" His voice was a little lower this time.

"Non, petit," Spy avoided making eye contact with Scout as he turned on his heel, "it is not my turn to play house." With that, he pressed a button on his watch and cloaked, vanishing on the spot.

Scout's eyes widened with tears almost instantly. He hiccupped, tried to stand, but fell over again. His watery eyes scanned where Spy should have been and wasn't.

Scout's wail of sorrow shattered the peace of the Teufort morning. Soldier jumped at the unexpected noise, nearly dropping his book as he did so. He pushed his helmet up a bit in order to stare at the sobbing Scout.

Now, for a man who berated weakness and considered even the slightest sigh a betrayal of a man's masculinity, the Soldier, in truth, had no idea how to handle crying. For a good two minutes he stood as still as a statue, watching the sobbing Scout without even the faintest idea of what to do.

"Erm…Scout?" he ventured at last, "What happened?"

"S-S-Sp-Spoiiii," Scout blubbered. He took to rubbing his eyes with his fists.

"_He's_ what you're crying over?" Soldier blinked, taken aback. "He isn't worth the time and effort, son. He's a crouton gone bad."

"_Spoi—Spoi push—b-b-bad Spoi!_"

Soldier took in Scout's dust-stained pants and red face. "He pushed you? That's against some kinda Geneva Convention, isn't it? When I get my hands on him…"

"Sol—Solly—up—uppy?" Scout stuck his stubby little arms into the air.

This time Soldier didn't even hesitate. He scooped little Scout up into his arms and didn't even try to push him away when the boy wrapped his arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. Soldier coughed. "Er, there, there, kid, eh, it's all right, and, uh, stuff."

"Solly," Scout sniffed, "giddiup?"

**...**

"This so-called beer tastes like _pisse_."

Engineer glanced at Medic with a quizzical expression. "C'mon, doc, you know I took conversational French in high school."

"Piss, mein Freund. American beer tastes like piss." All the same Medic downed the rest of his bottle, evidently in need of alcohol.

"Well, as long as it's not Sniper's piss," Engineer held up his half-empty bottle in a slight salute.

The two men were sitting alone in the resupply room, covered with blood. The Engineer had just spent the better part of the hour trying to convince Medic to kill him in order to test out Respawn. Medic had protested loudly at first, claiming one child running amuck was enough, and only gave in when Engineer accused him of not being loyal to scientific discovery.

It had been a quick, clean headshot worthy of Sniper's prowess, followed by an agonizing fifteen minute wait.

Engineer had come back just fine.

And now here they sat, frustrated, exhausted, and out of ideas.

"I do not understand," Medic leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ve haf tried _everyzing_. Vhat are ve missing?"

Engineer rubbed his five-o'-clock shadow, deep in thought. "I…I've got a hypothesis of sorts, doc, but...you might not like it."

"At zis point, toymaker, I vould believe zat a wizard did it."

"Well," Engineer breathed out, "yesterday was Scout's twenty-first birthday."

Medic growled low in his throat. "I am aware. Ze little Dummkopf would not shut up about. Get on with it!"

"This Respawn technology…it's fancy. Fancy and powerful. It can put back together a man whose been blown to smithereens. And it keeps us young and purty-looking too." The last was added with a ghost of a smile.

"Vhat?" Medic grumbled, having moved his fingers up to his eyelids.

"C'mon, y'all can't sit there and say you haven't noticed that, in the year since RED hired us, we've managed to avoid aging. You still got that gray up there, sure, but it hasn't moved any further up."

Engineer watched as one of Medic's hands flew to his hairline in horror before continuing: "Respawn is like one of them giant computers, and to it, we're like little computers. It resets us, backs up our files. Keeps us in our original state, if you will. When Scout died on Friday, the computer mighta thought he was due for a reset, especially given it was his birthday and all. But…something in Respawn went wrong, and it reset him back a little too far."

"You certainly haf given this thought," Medic stroked a hand through his graying hair, "but I fail to see how I would not like zis hypothesis."

Engineer took to biting his lip. "The way I see it, now that Respawn has itself all situated, fixing Scout _should_ be easy. All we have to do is send him through the system again and have the computer boot Scout's old files up, so to speak."

"So ve kill a Kind." Medic said slowly. "Not the ideal situation, but if he vill Respawn…vhat is that look for?"

Out of the corner of his eye he had seen the stricken look on Engineer's face. Medic turned to face him fully, suddenly worried. This was the man who had chatted his way through open-heart surgery and had even asked for hot grits afterwards. If something was making Engineer uncomfortable now…

"Remember when you said Scout was a child in 'every sense of ze vurd'?" Engineer put on a bad German accent, making Medic frown even further. "I think you were more right than you knew, doc. Respawn reset Scout too far. His system's clean."

"In layman's terms, bitte."

"Scout might not have a heart that can withstand an Übercharge. Scout might not be able to run as fast the Road Runner. And whatever RED did to us so that Respawn tracks us might not be in Scout now."

Medic's eyebrows came together in harsh realization. "So, vhat you are saying is, if anything were to happen to Scout…"

"If Scout were to die," Engineer's voice lowered to a whisper, even though they were completely alone, "he might just die for real."

* * *

I_ told _you there was a plot._ I told you_.

And Sun Tzu is actually pretty favorable towards spies. Rereading the copy I own for actual research was fun. :D

If Engie's techno-babble doesn't really make sense...well, there's always that wizard.

Up next: Medic has a lot of feelings, Pyro and Heavy will never try out for the American League (or the National League. Or the Little League. Or...any sports league), and Sniper's life goes down hill.

(Seriously, why is Sniper such an easy punching bag? :D)


	6. Baseballs to the Wall

_****_.

Before we dive into this rushed chapter (seriously, it's the most rushed and sloppily put together out of all the chapters), I'd like to take a moment to direct your attention to two young but very promising writers on this site-the first being _Victor Wizard Half-Blood Spy_, who makes my day without trying, and the second is_ Tokyo Sunset,_ who paid me the ultimate compliment and I'm still trying to figure out a proper thank-you. :) Go check 'em out, they could both use a little extra TLC. Go on, shoo, this will be waiting for you when you get back.

Secondly, I owe a huge thank-you to Belphegor and an apology to RiRi, since I keep blowing up her youtube feed with TF2 nonsense. That's the last Christian Brutual Sniper video I favorite, RiRi, I promised.

**POOT DISCLAIMER HERE!**

* * *

_**Chapter Five: Baseballs to the Wall**_

"There's only one way to test this hypothesis out," Engineer sighed as he ran a gloved finger around the mouth of his bottle, "but you know that."

"I see." Medic's eyes had always been cold, but now they positively radiated with ice. "Und you trust ze good doctor to get it done, hm? A small prick of a needle, ve get our answer, und you valk away without blood on your hands. Und if your hypothesis is correct, vell, I was ze one that killed him, ja?"

"Look, doc, I'm tellin' you this because I trust you! Not because I think you're a—"

"A coldhearted Nazi."

Engineer visibly flinched. "Not in so many words…"

"Hm. Und did you ever vonder vhat a Nazi vas doing vorking with a team of such," here Medic snorted, "diversity?"

"Uh…"

"I vill tell you this only once, Dell Conagher, so listen very carefully," Medic's tone grew harsh and heated and he straightened to his full height, "even one such as I has moral boundaries. Vhat those… _brutes_… did vas a senseless und callous waste of life. I may take you apart und stitch you back together again, but I know you vill be fine in ze end—"

Glass shattered everywhere as the empty beer bottle slipped from the Medic's trembling hands. Medic glared down at the mess in disgust. "I may not like Scout, but I vill not risk losing him."

"All right, doc," Engineer murmured, staring at his teammate with wide eyes, "all right."

Medic glanced over at Engineer's pale and frankly frightened face. Something within him twanged with regret and he sank forward, burying his face in his hands. "Mein Gott. I am sorry, Dell. I know you did not mean—"

"Nah, look, I'm the one that's sorry. Sorry for insinuatin' that you were… one of those fellas." Engineer took a long drink from his bottle.

Medic stared at the shattered glass around his boots. "Vhat are we going to do about zis mess?"

Engineer chuckled darkly. "I guess we start by findin' a broom."

**...**

Pyro was completely alone in the recreation room, as it liked to be. Being alone suited Pyro just fine. The only person on the team Pyro could tolerate for long periods of time was Engineer, who, in turn, tolerated Pyro's strange mannerisms.

The firebug was curled up on the stained, moth-eaten couch, eye sockets fixated on the old black-and-white television. Whether or not Pyro was actually enjoying _I Love Lucy_ reruns was up to interpretation, but every once in a while a strange snort resembling laughter emitted from the asbestos suit.

Lucille Ball had Pyro's full attention and as such he didn't notice a tired-looking Soldier peeking his head through the door. Soldier glanced this way and that before planting Scout down and whispering in the boy's ear, pointing to Pyro. Scout nodded and smiled, waving good-bye as Soldier made a hasty retreat.

Several minutes went by before Pyro managed to notice his little companion. "Mmpft!"

"Hi Pydo," Scout said cheerfully, swinging his legs from the edge of the couch.

"Mmph mrm hft?"

Scout shrugged. "Solly nap."

Pyro huffed and crossed its arms over its chest. Scout copied the action. Silence ensued, broken only by the laugh track on the television.

The laughter caught Scout's attention and he was soon absorbed by the images on television. Pyro looked between Lucille Ball and Scout. If it were possible for a mask to frown, Pyro managed it. It stood and snapped the television off.

"No!" Scout cried out. "No, Pydo, pease!"

Pyro shook its head and pointed out the window. It managed a word that sounded suspiciously like 'outside'.

Scout moaned and fell to the side, sprawled out on the couch. He'd just spent the whole morning outside with Solly! There was nothing left to do outside. From his position he glared at Pyro, silently daring the firebug to move him.

Pyro took up the challenge without a sound. Moving with surprising swiftness, he plucked the boy up from the couch and carried him in a fireman's hold out of the rec room. Scout began his whining as Pyro made its way through the halls, ignoring the startled looks from Demoman as it marched by. In fact, it only paused to glare at Soldier, who had been loitering by stairs. Pyro held two fingers up to its eye sockets and then pointed them at Soldier in a clear "You are _so_ paying for this" manner.

"Bye Solly," Scout muttered.

Pyro pushed open the back entrance to the base with its foot, washing the pair in bright sunshine. Pyro set Scout down firmly and pointed to a nearby field. "Mphf."

Instead Scout tossed his head back and let his shoulders drop. "Ugggggghhhhhh."

Pyro tsked and tapped its foot on the ground. Its finger still hovered in the air, directed straight at the field.

"Noooooooo," Scout renewed the very annoying whine.

Pyro glared down at Scout. Scout glared up at Pyro. It seemed that they were at an impasse, until Pyro snapped its fingers and disappeared back to the base. Scout blinked, straightened, and glanced around, not used to being alone.

He had started to occupy himself by knocking over ant hills when Pyro reappeared, clutching Scout's favorite toys.

Scout's eyes blazed with excitement. "Bat! Ball! Play?"

Pyro nodded, holding the bat out to Scout. The boy took it and stumbled backwards, knees buckling under the weight. Instantly Pyro was there to help, but Scout tugged the bat closer. "Mine!"

"Pft mrm mlph!" Pyro exclaimed, doing its best to show it just wanted to help Scout carry the bat.

"No! Mine!" Scout shooed Pyro away.

The firebug took a step back, head cocked to the side, watching as Scout teetered and tottered his way to the field, doing his best to take the bat with him. Sighing, Pyro started to follow.

"Bat… H-'ea—'eavy," Scout grunted, staggering back a bit.

"Who is calling my name?"

The rumbled words echoed from the base, soon followed by the actual Heavy, who looked around in confusion. "Privet, leetle man. What do you want?"

"'eavy," Scout grumbled, "bat!"

Pyro tapped Heavy on the arm, pointing to Scout, then to the field, all the while making wild hand gestures. Heavy seemed to understand, for he heaved a hefty sigh and crept up behind the wobbly Scout. "Baby Scout, let me see your toy."

"No… m-mine…"

"Whelp. Was good try." Heavy made to turn around, but froze when Pyro planted its hands on its hips and tapped its foot. There was an icy glower emitting from behind those goggles, so cold the Siberian-born and bred Heavy shivered.

"Fine! Baby Scout, if you do not give bat to me now I will… I will… I will take to good friend doktor for check-up!"

At that Scout actually tossed a look over his shoulder in surprise. Not for the first time today, Pyro slapped a hand to its mask. Heavy scowled. "What? Babies do not like doktors."

Pyro flung its free hand towards Scout. "Hmm phf mmm!"

"I am growing tired of this already, firebug." Heavy growled. He swung around, grabbed the bat, and yanked it into the air.

Neither of them expected Scout to have such an iron grip on his favorite toy, however, and so when the bat went into the air Scout came along for the ride. The boy giggled as he dangled in the air, swinging slightly as Heavy showed the boy and bat to Pyro.

Pyro shrugged. Heavy sighed once more. Together the odd company made their way to the barren field, devoid of even a single blade of grass. Heavy lowered Scout to the ground. Scout looked around with interest. Immediately he found a nice smooth rock and nudged it into a different spot. He ran around, looking for something.

Pyro and Heavy stood to one side in bemusement. They were silent as Scout walked around, picking up rocks and rearranging them. Finally the boy moved back over to where he began, apparently satisfied. He spun on his heel with a grin. "Ta-da!"

"Is baseball field," Heavy said slowly while Pyro gave Scout a double thumbs-up.

"Play ball!" Scout squeaked.

Russian and Whatever exchanged looks. Pyro lifted its hands in a 'well why not' fashion. Heavy rolled his eyes and shook his head. Scout rocked back and forth on his heels. "Pease, 'eavy?"

Heavy made several exaggerated facial expressions, trying and failing to avoid Scout's pleading eyes. "Da," he groaned at last, "let us play the ball."

Scout and Pyro both jumped for joy. Pyro took the 'pitcher's mound', motioning for Scout to step up to the 'plate'. Scout took up his bat with a determined expression. He held the bat straight up into the air.

"Baby Scout," Heavy furrowed his brow, "I do not know your baseball, but I do not think that is how you hold a bat." He leaned around Scout and tugged the bat towards Scout's shoulder.

The bat sprang back up again.

Heavy made to correct it once more, but Scout whined and held the bat just out of reach. "No! Mine!"

"Nyet, Baby Scout," Heavy's tone was surprisingly patient, "let me help you."

"No!" Scout scowled. "Lemme!"

"Mmph fpf hfph!" Pyro called as it tossed the baseball from hand to hand. It made a shooing motion towards Heavy, who held up his own beefy hands in a gesture of innocence. Heavy stepped back, allowing Pyro to toss the baseball underhand to Scout.

Scout took a terrific swing approximately three seconds after the ball had landed at his feet. The force of the swing sent him sprawling into the dirt.

Heavy roared with laughter as Pyro rushed to the little boy's rescue. Scout sat up and sniffled, running a hand across his nose. He continued to sniffle as Pyro stood him back up again, brushing the dirt off of him. Pyro then grabbed the baseball and held it up again. "Hghpf?" it asked with a hopeful tone.

"No," Scout shook his head furiously. His eyes began to water with tears when he pointed to a scraped elbow. "Owie."

"Oh no," Heavy groaned, "Baby Scout is also crybaby."

Pyro placed a comforting hand on Scout's shoulder, rubbing it gently. "Mmn gft prf!"

Scout snorted and rubbed at his nose again. The tears in his eyes seemed to dry a little bit. "Yeah?"

Pyro nodded and took the bat from Scout. It tossed the baseball high up into the air, and when it began its descent Pyro swung at it mightily. The firebug missed by a mile, staggered forward, and fell flat on its face.

Both Heavy and Scout sniggered. The toddler stuck his hands into the air. "Lemme!"

Pyro obliged from its spot on the ground. Once Scout had his hands on the bat again, he turned his oversized baseball cap backwards and swung the bat as hard as he could. Like Pyro, he fell flat on his face. This time, however, he giggled and looked to Pyro to make sure he was doing it right.

"'eavy," Scout held up the bat, "do!"

Heavy would've hesitated if not for Pyro looking at him too. The empty eye sockets bore into his very soul, and with that in mind Heavy took the bat and the ball gently. "All right. Batter up."

**...**

Not too far away, a lean, mean sniping machine was dozing in the midday sun. Sniper could be called a lot of things, but a habit-breaker was not one of them. Every Saturday, like clockwork, he dragged a battered lawn chair out of his van for a nice, long nap.

It was Sniper's paradise. The New Mexico sun warming his tired bones, a chilled beer hanging limply from his fingers, and his hat pulled down over his face. A faint snore escaped him. Not a single thing could go wrong for him today. Nope, not a—

"INCOMING!"  
The Heavy's familiar cry jolted Sniper to semi-alertness. Instinctively he grabbed for his kukri, but his hand only grasped empty air. Sniper blinked twice. "I'm gonna kill 'im." He snarled. "It's the bloody weeken—AARGH!"

Sadly, nobody had bothered to mention to the baseball hurling through the air at approximately ninety-five miles an hour that it was the weekend, and therefore there was no stopping it when it collided with Sniper's forehead.

The force of the blow knocked him clean off his feet.

For what felt to be a very long time Sniper stayed on his back, the wind knocked out of him completely and a strange pain creeping across his forehead. He wheezed and screwed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to curl into a ball. The pain sank into his head, making it pound and squeeze.

"Is Jarate man dead?"

"Hmmpf mmm!"

"Hi Nipes!"

Well, he hadn't died and gone to hell, because Sniper was fairly certain his hell would have more Spies and less squeaky children. He opened one eye to glare at the three standing over him.

Heavy breathed out in relief. "I am sorry, comrade. I did not know baseball was such dangerous sport."

"Hmmh fhph," Pyro patted Sniper's shoulder in what it thought was a friendly way.

Scout, on the other hand, just stared at the purple baseball-sized bruise developing on Sniper's forehead. "Wassat?"

Sniper poked at the bruise experimentally. "Ow."

Pyro smacked his hand away, scolding him in muffles. Sniper scowled and started to yell at Heavy and Pyro for being so careless, especially with a kid around, and didn't they know what they were doing?

Scout, already bored, picked up an old issue of comics lying beside the lawn chair. The boy crawled onto the chair and sat with the comic book open on his lap, smiling down at the colorful pictures.

Pyro shushed Sniper and pointed at Scout. The Aussie's eyes narrowed in understanding. "My turn, then?"

"Da," Heavy grabbed Pyro as the firebug started to chat on more, "good luck with him, comrade!" And with that, he dragged Pyro off, the poor Whatever still trying to communicate something to Sniper.

Sniper poked at his bruise at little more as he turned to face Scout. Scout held up the comic book. "All roight, ya little ankle-biter, ya want me to read?"

"Yeah!"

Sniper tried to tug the book away from Scout, but the boy snarled. "Mine!"

Oh, it was going to be a _very_ long day.

* * *

I apologize for how rushed it was, but there's a good reason for that: it's called Chapter Six. :3

I think, of all the characters, Medic is hardest is characterize-there's a fine line between good crazy and bad crazy with him. Drop me a line and let me know how I'm doing, all right? :)

Up next: My personal favorite chapter. That's all the hints you're getting. :x

Thanks for reading!

~Chaos :)


	7. Betelguese

_****_Oh hey, look guys, that sure was a quick update. Huh.

To the reviewer who asked about Pyro's bubbles: Scout got turned into a kid and that's what you're asking about? Truthfully, I have no idea. Magic. Magic did it.

So, like I said, this was absolutely my favorite chapter to write thus far. There are lots of little nods and winks that make it flow together nicely. I really hope you like it!

**NEED A DISCLAIMAH HERE. Don't own TF2 or the Beatles. I do, however, own Scout's brothers. You can't have them. I got attached. **

* * *

_**Chapter Six: Betelgeuse**_

Teufort had never been featured as a destination to visit in any magazine. It was dusty, it was dry, and what vegetation did grow was as coarse and tasteless as the residents of the small, one-red light town.

On rare occasions, however, the wonder of springtime visited Teufort. Rain sprinkled the land lovingly, softening the dead ground and encouraging it to yield flowers. The sun felt softer, the wind was gentler, and the breath of life sighed through the town.

On these rare days the youth of Teufort stirred, spilling out onto the streets to gather, shop, and play. Spring fever bit the youth and bit hard. The boys preened, the girls flounced and giggled. Courtship was in full swing. To the youth of Teufort it seemed they were invincible and forever young.

So that was why Sniper was surprised to find Scout sitting alone in the middle of the rec room, twirling a record sleeve around in his hands and listening intently to the record spinning on the ancient record player everyone shared.

A chirpy British voice carried throughout the room, all to the same tune: "_Desmond has a barrow in the marketplace/Molly is the singer in a band…"_

"What the _hell_ are ya listenin' to?"

Scout jumped a mile into the air at Sniper's growl. Glaring at the Aussie, Scout dropped the sleeve onto the floor. "One, this ain't mine. Two, if ya go and tell anybody that it's mine, I'm gonna tell everyone that Jane Austen shit on the bookshelf belongs to ya."

_Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah! Lala how the life goes on…_

Sniper took a quick look over at the bookshelf, where the collection of Jane Austen works had mysteriously appeared one day and no one, not even Pyro, was willing to claim. His nostrils flared. "Okay. But ya never answered my question. What the hell are you listening to?"

"The Beatles," Scout muttered, his entire face burning red.

At this Sniper peered over his aviators at the boy. "Ya actually loike them pretty boys?"

"NO!" Scout clenched his fists together, entering a defensive stance.

"Then _why_ are ya listenin' to 'em?"

_In a couple of years they have built a home sweet home/With a couple of kids running in the yard…_

"Because—'cause, I dunno, I thought, maybe, since their name was the _Beat_-les, there'd be some, y'know, beating crap up. But no! All they sing about ladies named Prudence and assholes named Bill and weepin' guitahs. Seriously, how does a guitah cry? It's a friggin' guitah. Whata buncha hacks."

Sniper was starting to get a headache. "Then why are ya still listenin'? Shouldn't ya be in town, wooing the sheilas with all yer manly charm and gentlemanly mannerisms?"

Scout collapsed down on the couch, fists still clenched. "This ain't twenty-questions, Snipes." Groaning to himself, he collapsed on his side, eyes fixated on the record player.

_Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah! Lala how the life goes on…_

Deciding it was best to leave Scout to his dreary thoughts, Sniper grabbed a book at random from the bookshelf and made to leave.

He hadn't stuck his foot through the threshold before Soldier's screaming started. "HIPPIES. IN. MY. BASE."

"Oh, here we go."

Soldier charged into the room, shoving Sniper into the wall as he did so. His helmet was knocked askew, allowing one dark blue eye to scan the rec room in fury. It landed on the harmless record player. A feral snarl emitted from deep in Soldier's throat. "Hippies."

Scout sat up off the couch, clasping and unclasping his hands in a guilty fashion.

_Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah! Lala how the life goes on…_

Noting this very un-Scout-like behavior, Sniper found himself stepping in-between Soldier and the record player. "S'just a song, mate. Don't get yer knickers in a knot."

"Hippies are a disease! The number one threat to America! It's been proven that exposure to this crap leaves a man weaker in mind and spirit!"

_Happily ever after in the marketplace/Molly lets the children lend a hand/Desmond stays at home and does his pretty face…_

Sniper would've laughed if he hadn't caught the look on Scout's face. On some long-buried instinct he stepped closer to Soldier, leaning down in order to glare at him properly. "_Back off_, Sol. The kid don't need this today."

"It is my self-appointed duty to look after this team," Soldier's breath was hot and foul on Sniper's face, "and part of that duty is making sure none of my men turn themselves into tree-hugging, long-haired, peace-and-love bullshitting _weaklings_—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, SOL!"

_And if you want some fun/take Ob-la-di-blah-da!_

Both Sniper and Soldier stared at Scout in shock. The young man was standing, breathing hard and fast as though he'd just run the Boston Marathon. The defensive stance was back, although this time it was accompanied by a glare designed to kill. He stooped to lift the needle off of the record player.

Instantly the four voices died. The room felt emptier for it. Scout kept his eyes averted as he stood again. "Don't worry. I ain't gonna play it evah again." He pushed past Sniper and Soldier, bolting into a run the minute he was in the hall.

"The matter is settled." Soldier relaxed instantly, stepping back away from Sniper. For a moment he appraised the lanky Australian. Then he turned on his heels and walked out with a stiff gait.

Sniper looked between the book in his hands and the silent, still-spinning record. He cursed, knowing what he had to do and knowing he wasn't going to like it.

**...**

He knew right away where he would find Scout.

He'd be in the hayloft; because the hayloft was the place everyone went to when they needed to be alone. Every member of RED had used the hayloft as their private thinking spot at least once. Scout was no exception.

Sniper climbed up the ladder to the loft at a deliberately slow pace. Most of him didn't even know why he was here—it was just a small, nagging part of him, the empathetic part that rarely came to surface in his occupation as a polite and efficient assassin, telling him to go check up on the boy.

What was he supposed to say, anyway? He could never figure out what was going on with that stupid kid even when he was in a good mood.

Despite these thoughts Sniper found himself in the hayloft, the Beatles album tucked under his arm.

And there was Scout, just as he predicted, muttering wildly to himself and aiming kicks at a wooden support beam. A few of the Medic's doves watched the spectacle with interest, safe on their perches high above Scout.

"Stupid bastahd, don't know nutin' 'bout nobody…Jesus H. frickin' Christ, I shoulda knocked his skull in…what an asshole…bet he's a fan of the friggin' Yankees too…"

The mutters died when Scout spotted Sniper. A furious scowl twisted the Bostonian's features. "No, no, and no again. This ain't some psychiatrist bullshit, you can't make me say a goddamn thing about my feelings 'n shit, so go away!"

Inwardly Sniper wondered if Scout would ever realize swearing didn't make him look cool or grown-up. He didn't say a word. In fact, he didn't even made eye contact with Scout. Instead Sniper lowered himself to the floor, studying the pristine white album in his calloused hands.

Scout stuffed his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. "You…you ain't gonna ask me 'bout nutin'?"

"Nope."  
"R-really?"

"Yep."

Scout's light blue eyes studied Sniper with a suspicious intensity before he, too, sank to the ground some feet away. For a long time there was silence, broken only by the cooing of the doves.

It was Scout who broke the silence. "Belongs to my big bro," he mumbled as he played with the gauze wrapped around his hand, "not me. Well, I mean, he sent it to me—I guess he tryin' to apologize, but it ain't workin'."

"Ya not gettin' along with your brother?"

"Yeah. Which is weird, 'cause Danny, he's the best big brother evah," Unbeknownst to Scout a faint smile was coming to his face, "he was my biggest bro, the oldest, the one Ma always had lookin' after the rest of us. He gave me my first baseball cahd when I was just a little kid. It belonged to his dad—who, eh, wasn't my dad but whatevah. But it was important to him, y'know? And he gave to me!" A big, dopey grin had vanquished the misery from Scout's face entirely.

"Danny win any 'Big Brother of the Year' awards fer that?"

"No, but he shoulda. You know how hahd it is to get your hands on an original Cy Young cahd in good condition?" Scout rolled his eyes at his companion's utter lack of understanding. He continued to pick at his gauze, the look in his eyes far away, far away from the hayloft. "Danny was—is—the regular apple of Ma's eye. Did anything she asked for—made the rest of us look like a buncha chumps. _And_ he was the best brawler the south side-a Boston's evah seen, _and_ he got all the dames, _and_ he was smaht too! He could do _Calculus_."

Sniper, who'd dropped out of high school at the ripe old age of sixteen, allowed himself to be impressed. Scout was impressed too, judging from the look on his face. Then, slowly, the shining look on Scout's face faded. The corners of his mouth twitched downwards. "'Course, that was all before he met that stupid girl."

Sniper arched his eyebrows but didn't say a word. He didn't have to, because Scout was talking quickly:

"Danny's dating her, and her name's like Leanne or Lisa or some shit, and…and he goes _soft_. He don't go pickin' fights no more, and he starts lettin' his hair grow out, and he picks up a guitar somewhere…the rest of us don't know what to think. He tells us we ain't gonna prove nuthin to nobody, that fists don't solve problems. Same loada horseshit we heard in school every day." Agitated now, Scout tore off his cap and began to drag his fingers through his hair. He snorted. "The only time I evah saw him fight again was when Charlie—he's my second-oldest brother—started acting like a prick to the girl livin' down the hall. Charlie, well, he's a dick to everyone but 'specially to her for some reason. I dunno, I didn't care." Scout half-shrugged.

"Anyways, Danny tells Charlie to knock it off, stop bein' an asshole, and the next time he harasses the nice girl he's gonna waste him. So, Charlie, who's stupid as he is mean, starts callin' her all those names ya can't stay in front-a Ma. And Danny," Scout paused for dramatic effect, "goes _off_ on him. He was turnin' into a hippie but he was still the best fist fighter you'd evah see. Charlie was black-and-blue-and sore all over, lemme tell ya. And Danny starts lecturin' to all of us 'bout treating people and especially women—and right here he kicks Charlie in the balls—with proper respect. The lesson goes over 'bout as well as you'd expect, and by the end of the night the only ones not nursing bruises was me and Danny, mostly 'cause I was the youngest and he couldn't beat me up without gettin' in trouble with Ma. I wouldn't-a tried my luck anyways."

The small empathetic part of him kept him from asking Scout to get on with it. Sniper shifted, wondering what Danny and his fists had to do with the album he was currently holding.

"That was the last time I evah saw him wailin' on another person—his own brothers, for some dame who hadn't even given him the time-a day! He and Charlie stopped talkin' after that. And Danny starts actin' like some big-shot head-a the house. Won't shut up about tryin' to keep the twins in school, and gets two jobs to help Ma pay for Mack's glasses 'cause Liam broke his only pair when they was wrestlin'—"

"I ain't got all day, boy. And stop pullin' yer eyebrows! Makin' me crazy just watching ya."

Scout jumped at Sniper's growl. He seemed to have forgotten Sniper was even there. Sheepishly he lowered his hand down from his eyebrow, for he had been plucking the short hairs without even realizing it. He took a deep breath. "Long story short, Danny is a friggin' genius, so he gets a fancy full-ride scholarship to some college out in Ohio. You woulda thought he was the second-coming of Christ, the way Ma acted. She bought him a whole new bunch of clothes, something I'd been begging for but—" his ears burned red, "we never, uh, had much money to go around, so I got all the hand-me-downs, all the time. And there's Danny, struttin' 'round the house with his suitcase and guitar and new suit, sayin' his good-byes real formal like, and when he gets to me...

"Now, ya gotta understand, I'm still a little kid, don't know much 'bout anything, and here's Danny, bending down one on knee and tellin' me to look after Ma and be good and stay in school and stuff," Scout screwed his eyes shut, "and, and I just got _mad_ at him. I screamed that he wasn't my dad, he couldn't tell me what to do, and Charlie was right about him bein' some stupid poser who went granola just to get in a girl's pants. I didn't know what that meant, but—but ya could see the look on Danny's face, and behind them sunglasses he was wearin' he looked like someone had just punched him in the gut. I ran outta the apartment…didn't come back 'til suppertime…and Danny had left by then."

Sniper, no stranger to being hurt by family, felt his gut twist in sympathy for Danny. "Ya haven't talked to him since?"  
"No," Scout mumbled as he drew his knees to his chest, "haven't seen him either. He stayed out in Ohio, got a nice job at that nice college. But a few days ago he sent me that Beatles album and a letter talkin' 'bout his family with that Leanne girl and tellin' me how proud he was that I finished high school and found a steady job and stuff. And I guess I'm an uncle now too," Reaching into his pocket, Scout pulled out a crumpled picture of a little girl sitting on the lap of a bearded man, who bore a faint resemblance to Scout. "Her name's Jane, which is my Ma's name. I never met her, little Jane that is, but I kinda want to. But I don't know how to tell Danny I'd like to see him too. That's why I was listenin' to the Beatles…Danny said in his letter that he really likes 'em, so I thought it might put in me in a Danny-like mood sose I could write a letter back. He was always good with words."

_Ah_. Suddenly everything made sense. Sniper pushed the Beatles record towards Scout. "Keep it, boy. Soldier's a miserable old man who wouldn't know good music if it punched him in the nose."

Scout shoved Little Jane's picture back into his pocket. "I guess they ain't too bad…but I don't want Sol sayin' anything else 'bout me and Danny. Oh, I know!" His face brightened. "Maybe you could keep it safe for me? In ya van? Nobody goes in there anyway, right?"

No. No one ever visited Sniper's van. The Aussie took in the hopeful expression on Scout's face before pulling the Beatles back to him. "All roight."

"Snipes, you are the _man_! I'll pay ya back for this somehow, really I will!" Reenergized, Scout jumped to his feet. He darted out of the hayloft without so much as a good-bye, leaving Sniper to wonder what on earth he'd been thinking.

**...**

_I look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping/While my guitar gently weeps…_

That had been the only time he and Scout had had something even close to a 'heart-to-heart'. He hadn't even asked the boy if he'd ever written Danny back.

Sniper mused on the encounter as he pulled Scout's thumb away from his mouth. "Don't suck yer thumb. It'll ruin yer teeth."

_I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping/Still my guitar gently weeps…_

Scout yawned and snuggled against Sniper's abdomen. His eyelids fluttered in a desperate bid to stay awake. The gentle guitar chords carried throughout the van.

Wrangling Scout hadn't been as much of an issue as Sniper had anticipated. Most of Scout's energy had been spent already—the only fight he experienced now was Scout's losing battle against exhaustion.

Both were sitting on the fold-out bed in Sniper's van, the record player spinning the Beatles once more. Scout sat in Sniper's lap, his curious eyes on the comic book Sniper was holding out. "…and then Saxton Hale fought the giant apes fer the…" Sniper thumbed through the rest of the pages with a frown, "next six pages."

_I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love…_

The image of a mustachioed powerhouse of a man punching his way through a simian's chest made Sniper snap the book shut. "I think that's enough fer today—Scout, I said not ta suck yer thumb!"

He pried the thumb out of the boy's mouth once more. Scout whined in protest. "Ya tired?"

"No."

"Ya wanna take a nap?"

"No."

"Are ya lyin'?"

"Yeah..."

_I look at the world and I notice it's turning/While my guitar gently weeps…_

Sniper hoisted Scout up onto his shoulder, smiling a bit when Scout buried his face into his shirt. He was certainly adorable when he wanted to be. He held him just a little bit tighter. "Shh, go ta sleep now, ankle-biter." His mouth twitched upwards at the affectionate nickname.

Scout mumbled something inaudible. His breathing had slowed to an easy pace, his little fists relaxing as they clutched the soft fabric of Sniper's shirt.

_With every mistake we must surely be learning/Still my guitar gently weeps…_

Sniper found himself humming along to the sad song, rocking back and forth as Scout went limp in his arms. Before long soft snores accompanied Sniper's humming and the record's hypnotizing guitar chords.

They weren't bad, Sniper mused. Just not to his taste—he'd never really cared for music anyways.

Moving slowly as to not wake the boy, Sniper lowered him onto the bed, taking off his baseball cap as he did so. Scout didn't even stir.

_I didn't know how you were inverted/No one alerted you…_

"All roight, pretty boys," Sniper muttered under his breath, stretching as he stood, "off ya go." He winced at the crick in his back when he crouched to shut the record player off.

The silence, broken only by Scout's snores, was golden.

Sniper swung around to the tiny kitchenette, grabbing his #1 Sniper mug and taking a long gulp of cold coffee. He grimaced at the bitter taste, picked up a crumpled piece of paper, and tiptoed out of the van.

He settled down on the edge of the lawn chair, eyes on the piece of paper. It was covered in his tiny handwriting, scribbles and scrawls and scratched-out sentences. Sniper didn't have to read the letter. He knew it by heart.

'_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I hope this letter reaches you all right. How are Lizzie and Jack? Send them my love. Tell Miss Bess I said hello too, and that I hope her rheumatism isn't acting up too badly. I know I haven't called or written in a while, but the doctor's job has been keeping me busy. Lots of patients! The money's good though, and I'll wire you some as soon as I can,"_

The letter stopped there. He wasn't sure how to continue it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to continue it.

"Pour l'amour de Dieu, Lawrence, you are still keeping up with that ridiculous lie?"

Sniper crumbled the half-finished letter in his fist. He didn't bother turning around. "What do ya want, spook?"

From his standing position behind Sniper Spy shook his head in disgust. "A docteur, Lawrence, of all things. You will 'ave to borrow Medic's uniform when you go 'ome!"

"I told ya not to call me that! As far as yer concern, I'm the Snioper!" Sniper stood and turned, glaring down at the shorter Spy.

Spy's gray-blue eyes widened in shock. "What 'appened to your forehead?"

"Wot? Ow!" The pain began anew as Sniper slapped a hand to his forehead in remembrance. "Got whacked wit a baseball. S'not too bad—s'not funny either!" He scowled as Spy doubled over in a snorting laugh. "Be quiet! The kid's asleep!" He jerked a thumb towards his van.

Spy straightened, attempting to hide his obnoxious snorts behind his hand. "You—_haha_—you've got—_oho_—S-Scout?"

"I'm gonna bludgeon ya wit a baseball bat if ya keep it up."

"My—eheh—my apologizes, mon ami," Spy couldn't contain the smirk stretching across his face. "but between your ridiculous letters to your mother and that bruise it is 'ard to take you seriously. Not that I took you all that seriously before." He flashed a toothy grin.

_Use your words, Lawrence._

His mother's words ringing in his ears and the sleeping Scout were the only things keeping Sniper from slugging Spy in the jaw. He took a deep breath. "Yer funny, spook. Now get the hell out of here."

"If you insist," Spy waved a hand around nonchalantly, "I only stopped by to see 'ow your letter was coming. It has been, what, three weeks? Ah, such a sad life. Adieu!" With that, he flounced—actually _flounced_—off in the direction of the base.

_Use your words, Lawrence! I don't want you picking fights with the other boys!  
_Sadly, living a life as a lone tracker in the Outback hadn't allowed Lawrence Mundy all that much experience with settling conflicts politely. So, in true Sniper fashion, he reacted the way he knew how.

"Bloody bogan!"

Pain exploded across the back of Spy's head and he stumbled forward, hand snapping to his balaclava. His skin burned underneath the soft fabric and he instantly knew there was going to be a very large lump on the back of his head. The half-finished cigarette fluttered from his mouth in shock.

He spun on his very expensive Italian leather shoes to glower at Sniper, who tossed another rock from hand-to-hand. "You are trying my patience, _Lawrence_."

"Wot's the matter, Spookie? Scared to get yer cheap suit dirty?"

"I'm sorry, you _must_ 'ave misspoken. _Say it one more time_."

"Yer. Cheap. Suit."

"CHEAP SUIT?! CHEAP SUIT?! YOU ARE THE ONE WHO LIVES IN A _VAN_!"

"OH, THAT IS IT!"  
Forsaking his own warning about the sleeping Scout, Sniper lunged for Spy. The Frenchman slammed his hand down on his watch and cloaked. Sniper landed face-down in the dirt but was back up in an instant. The Aussie cracked his neck as he moved in a circle. "Ya gonna run and hide just like always, eh? Spies are useless!"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the air shimmer. He jumped away just as Spy's butterfly knife sliced through the air. He wasn't fast enough, as a hot slice of pain cut into his cheek. Spy reappeared, what could be seen of his face burning red with anger.

"Ya were gonna cut me." Sniper blinked. He raised a hand to brush away some of the blood trickling down his face. Then the amazement wore off and was replaced by fury: "YA WERE GONNA CUT ME!"

An ungentlemanly snarl escaped Spy. "It would 'ave shut you up—ARGH!"

Sniper tackled Spy to the ground, pinning him to the ground with his superior weight. Immediately Sniper started wailing on him. A red mist had descended around the Aussie's eyes, blinding him with rage. "_YA—WERE—GONNA—CUT—ME_! _YA—CHEAP—PRANCIN'—POOFTAH_!"

There was a crack and Sniper heard an undignified yelp. Pain shot up his arm, which only made him angrier. He made to punch Spy again, but something caught his fist.

It was Spy, who looked up at him with such burning hatred a lesser man would've melted on the spot. "You bowke mah dose. MAH DOSE!"

Sure enough, beneath the balaclava Spy's once-perfectly straight nose was now quite crooked. The fabric was rapidly staining with blood and Spy was wheezing from the effort to breath.

Sniper stared down at the Frenchman, unsure of what to do. "Erm. Sorry, mate—URK!"

Spy took advantage of Sniper's momentary distraction to knee him in the crouch. Behind the aviators Sniper's eyes bugged out of his head. He fell off of Spy, dry-heaving and clutching at his stomach. "Only…a…Spy…"

"Bowke mah dose, wives in a wan, prowably pisses in dos jahs fah fun…"

"Bleedin'…buggerin'…pooftah…"

"OI WATE YOU!"

"I HATE YOU TOO!"

For an instance there was silence punctured only by the heavy breathing of the two so-called professionals.

Out of nowhere there was a crash of a shattered glass, followed swiftly by a child's shriek of pain. The attention of Sniper and Spy snapped to the van, Sniper's face paling rapidly.

"MEDIC!" "WEDIC!"

* * *

My, my, Sniper and Spy can't seem to keep their hands off each other. Honhonhon~

There are tons of Genius Bonuses in this chapter, but I'll leave two for you to ponder on: the title of the chapter and Danny's "college out in Ohio". Very important, the latter more so than the former.

Up next: MEDIC!

(Hey, you want to get a jump start on the next chapter? Of course you do. And you all love me, right? Of course you do. I recommend checking out my latest oneshot, "The Hippocratic Suggestion". It'll give you a good idea of the direction I went with Medic).

You guys are awesome and I love you lots!

~Chaos


	8. All Doves Go To Heaven

This author's note was supposed to be a big opening spiel about how this chapter marks a transition in tone, and hopefully you guys can catch the foreshadowing and I was going to be really serious-but then Mann vs Machine became a thing. *dies*

Another huge round of thank-yous to Belphegor and RiRi, and also to my anonymous reviewers like Wepul, sissimay, and that one guy. I can't thank you enough! :D

**Disclaimer: I am not Gabe Newell. Y'all are just gonna have to take my word on that.**

* * *

**Chapter**_** Seven: All Doves Go To Heaven**_

If any of the BLUs took a moment that Saturday evening to glance over at the RED base, they would have been surprised and frankly quite startled to see it shaking. What any member of the BLU team could not have guessed, however, was that it was shaking with screams.

The entirety of the RED team was currently engaged in an all-out shouting contest in Medic's office. Twice now Heavy had had to pry Sniper off of Spy and vice versa, and the third time he simply gave up. Now he stood close to the Medic in case he had to rescue his friend from the wrath of a very drunk Demoman. Soldier had entered a shoving match with Pyro. Engineer sat in the corner, appealing for common sense without being heard. The only one who had managed to stay quiet thus far was, in fact, Scout, who curled up into Engineer's lap in an attempt to make himself as small as possible.

It was impossible to understand what any man was saying. A few common words flew through the air like bullets—"Who was watching him?!" "Why'd you leave him in charge?!" "Jus' wot happened to 'im?" "BLOODY PIKER!" "GODDAMN BUSHMAN!"

Engineer knew his voice was useless from the corner. He stood and set the whimpering Scout down in the chair. "It's gonna be all right, son, you just let ol' Engie take care of things from here." He gave the boy a reassuring smile, one that faded quickly and was replaced by a cold fury when he stood and turned.

He marched right into the fray, straightening his goggles out as he did so. "Gents, that's enough."

He stood in the middle of a circle of madmen who would not, or could not, listen to reason. Engineer closed his eyes and counted to ten. "I said THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Everything seemed to freeze in place.

Engineer glared daggers down at the Aussie and Frenchman rolling around on the floor. "Get off of him. Just what are you, eight years old?"

Slowly, with jerking motions, Spy released his iron grip on Sniper's neck. Instantly the lanky man went limp, gasping for breath.

"And as for you," Engineer snatched the bottle of Scrumpy's away from the Demoman, who began a faint protest, "I told you not to drink with the kid around!" He flung the half-full bottle against the wall.

It smashed into a million pieces. Perfectly good alcohol trickled down the wall, but Demoman couldn't find a protest. He'd never seen Engineer in such a fury before. The brave Scot slunk behind Medic as Engineer spun around again, locking eyes with the doctor.

"Doc," he managed through gritted teeth, "I'd be much obliged if y'all could please keep an eye on Scout while I speak to our esteemed teammates."

Medic was man enough not to wither under Engineer's fierce look. He brushed a bit of imaginary lint off of his lapels. "Certainly."

"Thanks. And as for the rest of y'all," Engineer's finger swung around the room, "outside. Now."

Soldier scoffed. "I give the orders around here, hardhat."

Engineer's eyes appeared glowed with fury. His deep, angry snarl sent Soldier stepping backwards. "Outside."

There was a mad scurry for the door. Engineer stomped out after the rest of the team, slamming the door shut with such force the glass pane shook in its frame.

Medic tilted his head to the side, half-listening to the muffled lecture Engineer was treating everyone to. He caught the words "more serious than you think" and "behave like adults for once" before turning to Scout.

The little boy swung his legs from the chair Engineer had left him in. "Owie." He pointed to his forehead, "bandy?"

"Ve already discussed zis, Scout," Medic half-frowned, "band-aids are for little cuts. Your forehead is fine."

"Pease, doca?" Scout's eyes went wide. "Bandy, pease?"

Medic took a leaf from Engineer's book and counted to ten. This certainly wasn't what he had signed up for when RED offered him the job. He could hear Soldier arguing with Engineer now, and Spy's curt tone, followed by a yelp of pain.

Couldn't these dunderheads solve anything without resorting to violence? Didn't they realize it only added to his already stressful job?

After all, he was the one who had to pluck the glass out of Scout's hands and arms while the little boy screamed and sobbed. And not to mention the bloodied messes that had been Spy and Sniper—he'd been tempted to turn the headache-inducing duo away at the door.

Just who left a coffee cup teetering on a counter where a curious toddler could reach it?

"Doca, bandy," Scout's incessant whine cut through his moment of self-pity.

"Ja, Scout," Medic grumbled, "I suppose you can have ein _bandy_." He picked the boy up and moved him to the desk. Scout looked around the new vantage point with interest while Medic slipped a band-aid out of a drawer.

"Here ve are," Medic started to face Scout, but froze when he saw what the boy was looking at.

Scout pointed to the picture frame sitting on Medic's desk, more specifically to the aged picture of a woman inside it. "Whosat?" he glanced at Medic with a curious expression.

_"Damn, doc, that's a beautiful woman! How come yous never told us you're married?"_

_ "Vas," Medic snarled, "I vas married. Verdammen, Scout, can you sit still for twelve seconds?!" He held Scout's arm a bit tighter as his needle slid in and out of the exposed flesh, sewing it back together._

_ "Vas married?" Scout looked at the picture with renewed interest as a means of escaping the pain. "What, did she leave ya for some strapping fellow? Or a lady?" He laughed. "What if your wife was a lesbian, doc?"_

_ "She is dead."_

_ The laugh froze in place, twisting itself into a horrid grimace. Scout looked between the pretty young woman in the picture and Medic's impassive face. "Sorry, doc," he mumbled, his eyes downcast._

_ "Vhat are you sorry for? You vere not among those who killed her." Medic's voice was calm, his eyes steady on Scout's bleeding arm. _

_ This apparent apathy scared Scout more than any shouting or scolding could have. "Still," he insisted, "I didn't even think—"_

_ "You don't think about a lot of things, Häschens." Medic cut him off curtly. He gave the needle a vicious finishing tug and Scout's howl rang throughout the room._

"Doca, whosat?"

Medic jumped a bit and shook his head to clear the memory. "She is an old friend, Scout." He explained with just a hint of sorrow.

Scout studied the picture again. "Pwetty," he decided. Satisfied, he sat back with an expectant expression on his face. Medic pressed the band-aid to his forehead, smoothing it over with a gloved hand. Scout pressed a finger to the smooth adhesive with a grin. "Tank you!"

Medic made a noncommittal noise as looked around for his Medigun. It was, of course, right where he'd left it after healing Scout, Spy, and Sniper. He hefted the nifty tool into his arms.

"Toy?" Scout asked hopefully.

"Nein, Kind," Medic replied as he set the Medigun down beside his desk, "it is not for playing with."

"Awwww," Scout hunched his little shoulders up and jutted his lip out.

Medic chuckled. "If you think zat trick is going to vork on me, you have much to learn, little one."

At that moment Heavy walked back into the room, his massive frame nearly getting stuck in the door. "Rest of team has gone to dinner. Demolitions man offered to cook. He will be making haggis." Heavy wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Medic shuddered. He walked to a corner of the room, where he kept a mini-fridge in case of such emergencies as Demoman/Soldier/Sniper's cooking. "Do not fret, mein Freund. I come prepared." With an air of triumph he pulled two wrapped-up sandwiches out of the fridge.

Heavy roared in delight. "OH, I LOVE THIS DOKTOR!"

"DIS DOCA!" Scout threw his hands the air.

Holding his smile back, Medic tossed the sandwich to Heavy, who caught it with a surprising grace.

"Cheers," Medic snagged two beers out of the fridge as well.

Heavy sat down in a waiting chair, the furniture creaking under his weight. "How is leetle Scout?"

Scout smiled a bit, his eyes on the sandwich in Heavy's hands. "Want."

"Ah, no. This is _my_ sandvich." Heavy shifted a bit in order to hold his dinner closer.

"Want!" Scout exclaimed.

"Nyet, leetle man," Heavy scowled.

Scout studied Heavy for a long moment before scooting to the edge of Medic's desk. Behind him, Medic sat and munched on his makeshift dinner, eyebrows arched in curiosity. He made no attempt to help the little boy as he carefully lowered himself down.

Once Scout was sure his toes were touching the floor, he let go of the desk and landed in a crumpled pile with a soft "oomph". This didn't deter him, however—instantly he was back up, making his way to Heavy. "Want." He repeated.

Heavy's eyes glinted dangerously. He admired the baby's determination, but this was _his_ sandvich. And he did not share. "_Nyet_."

"WANT!" Scout screeched. "WANT! WANT! WANT!"

"IF YOU THINK I AM GOING TO SHARE, YOU ARE DEAD WRONG BABY—"

Medic exhaled sadly, reaching for the drawer where he kept the aspirin. "Herr Heavy, bitte, share vith ze Kind."

Heavy looked between Scout's reddening face and the currently pill-popping Medic. He tensed up for a moment, expression one of extreme irritation. "Very well," he grumbled at last, tearing the sandwich in half and handing the smaller half to Scout with a sneer, "enjoy it, baby Scout."

"Tank you," Scout replied with no less venom. He waddled over to Medic and plunked himself down at the German's feet. He took a huge bit of sandwich with a smirk.

Heavy glared down at the child. "Doktor…on scale of one to a lot, how much mortal peril is leetle Scout in?"

"Herr Engineer has filled you in, I take it," Medic set his half-finished sandwich aside, "at zis point in time, Scout is in no danger. But I do not know vhat vill happen on Monday." He looked at Scout, who was busy wolfing down the sandwich and making a mess while he was at it. Medic wrinkled in disgust as bits of condiment and bread littered his pristine white floor. "Ze Administrator vill know vhat has transpired, if she does not know already…" his gaze rose to the corners of the room, wondering just how close of an eye on the Administrator kept on her team.

Heavy followed his gaze. "Do you think she is watching?"

"I have no idea." Medic replied as he shook another pill into his hand. He had just started raising the pill to his mouth when a fluffy white ball shot across his nose, making him jump and dropping his pill onto the floor.

Reacting quickly before Scout could even think about reaching for it, Medic snatched the pill up from the floor and scowled at the culprit. "Archimedes! No!"

Archimedes, Medic's favorite, if trouble-making dove, fluffed his white feathers and cooed in apology.

"Oooh," Scout sprang up, "wassat?"

_ "Check it out, doc! Me and Archie went and bonded on ya!" Scout strutted into Medic's office proudly, Archimedes perched on his shoulder. _

_ Medic looked up sharply from his paperwork. "Archie?" he growled._

_ "Yeah, s'lot more awesome than some stuffy old name like Arch-a-medes, ain't it?" Scout reached up and patted the dove gently on the head. The dove moved in a bit closer to Scout, apparently pleased. _

_ "Archimedes was a genius of the Ancient World," Medic snapped, "something a speedy little Scheißekopf such as yourself vould not understand. Archimedes, come here!"_

_ Scout rolled his eyes and collapsed down in a waiting chair as Archimedes flew over to the desk. "Ugh, doc, why do ya have to go ruinin' my fun, huh? Stick in the mud. I wasn't gonna hurt him or nut-tin. Don't ya trust me?"_

_ "Nein. Not in a million years."_

_ "Not even in a billion years?"_

_ "Not even a _trillion_,_ _Häschens."_

The incident firmly in mind, Medic scooped little Archimedes up, placing the dove on shoulder. Scout watched the action with a furrowed brow. "Wassat?"

"Archimedes," Medic replied with a sniff. Archimedes snipped at his ear to get his attention. "Ow, vhat is it?"

"Hi Archie," Scout waved. He gasped in delight as Archimedes fluttered to the open window. He cooed again, and this time there was a hint of urgency in his song.

Medic exchanged looks with Heavy before rising slowly out of the chair, moving to the window. "Vhat is wrong?" His eyebrows came together in concern when Archimedes hopped out of the window, onto the ground below. He leaned out the window.

From across the room Heavy saw Medic go rigid. "_Ficken_." The German breathed. He backed away from the window, grabbed his lab coat, and darted for the door. "Heavy, watch Scout, bitte!"

The door slammed shut.

Scout turned to Heavy, utterly confused. "Where go?"

"I do not know," Heavy replied, the frown on his face deepening. The Medic was the type of man to stay calm even under the heaviest of fire, but something outside had rattled him, and rattled him badly. It suddenly occurred to him that whatever Medic had saw might be dangerous. Part of him itched to find Sascha and join the doctor, but…

"Leetle Scout," he said firmly, "come here."

Scout ignored him, instead taking a step towards the window. "Wassa—'eavy!" He squealed as the Heavy grabbed him by the midriff, carrying him away from the window and towards the door. He glared at the Russian as he set him on the floor.

"Nyet, leetle Scout," Heavy explained, "could be danger."

The sound of a pair of thundering feet carried down in the hallway and into the room. Heavy pushed Scout behind him and raised his fists in anticipation.

However, when Medic burst through the door, gasping like a dying man and cradling a bloodied lab coat to his chest, Heavy dropped his fists in clear relief. Scout peeked around his leg.

Medic was muttering wildly to himself in his native tongue as he laid his precious bundle down the desk, haphazardly sweeping aside all the items on his desk to one side. "_Nein, nein, nein_," he whispered furiously, "_bitte, nein, nicht Ptolemy_…" With a tiny gasp of pain he sank to his knees.

Scout took a brave step towards the trembling German, but Heavy swept him backwards once more. The Russian gave the boy a stern glance before approaching Medic. "Doktor? What is wrong?"

The soft question jolted the doctor out of whatever torment he was in. Medic shook his head, pushing his glasses up to his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nozing, Herr Heavy, I am overreacting…" His voice cracked as he stood, looking forlornly down at the little bundle taking up so much room on his desk.

It was a dove. Its pretty white feathers had turned crimson, matted down with its own blood. The neck was snapped cleanly in two with a hunter's experience. The beady blank eyes stared up at Heavy and the battle-hardened man actually shuddered. Who would do this to such a beautiful creature? A BLU looking for revenge? Perhaps it was a mild threat from the Administrator? Or perhaps—

"A fox," Medic mumbled, ashamed of his earlier weakness, "a fox caught Ptolemy. By ze time Archimedes alerted me it vas too late…" He continued to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

"Was not your fault, Doktor," Heavy assured, "these things happen in nature."

"I could haf saved him," Medic insisted, his trimmed nails now digging deeply into his nose, "if I was faster I could haf saved him…"

"You cannot save everyone, doktor," Heavy stated simply, "you are not God." He reached over and firmly pushed the hand away from the nose.

Medic opened his eyes with a weary look. "Nein. And I vould not like to be God." He allowed his hand to drop limply to his side.

Scout, sensing the sudden shift in the moods of the adults, tiptoed over to stand next to Medic. His eyes instantaneously locked on the dead dove. "Wassat?" His little hand reached up to the desk.

"_Do not touch him_!" Medic hissed, smacking the boy's hand away with sudden force.

Scout cried aloud and stumbled back, eyes filling with tears at the pain. He stared up at Medic, suddenly afraid of his former protector. He took a few more steps away, whimpering pathetically.

Medic didn't have to see the disapproving look from Heavy to know he'd crossed a line. He sighed sadly, crouching to Scout's level. "I am sorry, Scout. I vas angry, und I should not haf taken ze anger out on you."

Nevertheless Scout kept his distance. The tears now streamed down his face silently. And the silence made it all the more terrible.

Medic's stomach twisted in hot, ugly guilt. "You vant to see, Scout? I vill show you. Come." He beckoned to the boy. Behind him Heavy remained quiet.

Scout rubbed his fists against his eyes, pushing the tears out. He sniffled as he considered the earnest expression of the Medic and his own stinging hand. Slowly, with the caution of a mouse inching past a cat, he moved into Medic's open arms. He clung to the German's vest as he was lifted into the air. "W-wassat?" he asked softly.

"His name vas Ptolemy. He vas a very good dove." Medic explained, watching the way Scout's eyes roved over the dead dove.

"Owies," Scout said at last, looking back to Medic. He pointed to the band-aid on his forehead. "Bandy?"

"I am sorry, Scout," Medic successfully kept his voice from breaking again, "but all ze bandies in ze vorld vould not help."

"Why?"

"Because…Ptolemy is dead."

"Dead?" Scout's head tilted to the side in bafflement. "Wassa dead?"

"Dead…" Even in his native German Medic would have found it difficult to explain the concept of death to a child, and so he spoke his next words with long pauses in-between: "…it means…not alive…does not feel, does not think…ze s-soul has moved on…ze body is all zat remains."

Scout looked back to poor Ptolemy, still not satisfied. "Wassa soul?"

This time Medic looked to Heavy for aid. His bulky friend exhaled slowly. "Souls…are good things. Every living thing has soul—is impossible to live without soul. And when a person dies, soul goes on."

"Where go?"

"I do not know, leetle one. Many think soul goes to Heaven, or is reborn in other body."

"Potlemmy go Heaven?" Scout appealed to his elders with hope.

Medic's breath hitched. "Ja, Kind. All ze doves go to Heaven." Without ceremony he passed Scout along to Heavy, turning away as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. He gripped the edge of his desk with white knuckles. Out of the blue Archimedes fluttered in, landing on his master's shoulder and clucking sadly.

"Should we go, doktor? Give you moment with dove?"

"Nein, Herr Heavy," Medic straightened and breathed out, "I vould very much prefer it if you stayed."

At that moment the sun finished its eternal struggle against the rotation of the earth, sinking along the rough horizon. Never one to go without a fight, the sun's rays shone brilliantly for one last desperate hurrah, coating the landscape in crimson.

The dying light spilled through the windows, washing the doctor's office and its occupants in red. For a moment they all looked to be drenched in blood.

Medic studied his blood-coated hands as the light receded. He was no stranger to blood, to pain, to loss. Something as simple and insignificant as a dove should not have brought him to his knees like a child. He was better than that, _verdammen_.

He continued to study his hands as Heavy flicked on the lights, the office taking on ghoulish, sickly quality under their white glow. "I should bury him," Medic dropped his hands at last, "ze sooner the ze better. Herr Heavy, vould you might watching Scout just one more time…?"

"Take as long as you need to, doktor," Heavy said with a remarkable gentleness. He looked at his good friend with a mixture of pity and empathy. "I saw sparrow die once, when I was leetle boy. Shot by boy in my village. I tried to help it, but for all my strength I could not. I dug small grave by tree. Cried for many nights after. Do not worry, Josef—it is not weak to mourn innocence."

Medic looked to Heavy again, this time with a half-smile. The RED team knew of each other's real names, but it was an unspoken code to stick to their professional titles—true names were only in times of extreme fury or worry. "Danke, Ivan. I vill be all right." Without another word he bundled the lab coat around Ptolemy once more, hurrying out of the room with his sad burden.

Heavy relaxed a tad. Scout, still in the big guy's arms, scooted into a more comfortable position. He yawned, thumb drifting towards his mouth. Heavy lowered himself down once more into a waiting chair. "You are tired, da?"

"Yeah," Scout pressed his face into Heavy's chest, eyes screwed shut. "Story, 'eavy?"

"Only stories I know are scary stories, leetle one," Heavy admitted.

Scout's eyes fluttered open. "Song?" he mumbled.

Heavy's mouth turned down a bit. He didn't know very many songs either, and what songs he did know where all in Russian. As he racked his brain for a solution, a faint, familiar melody stirred at the back of his mind. "All right," he shushed Scout, "I have song."

The lullaby meant for a mother's whisper was badly butchered in his rough, deep voice. But Scout didn't seem to mind at all. Heavy sang the first verse and paused, waiting for Scout's react. "A-gen," the boy yawned, "pease."

A corner of Heavy's mouth twitched upwards. He began the song anew:

"_Spi mladyenets, moi prekrasný,_

_bayushki bayu,_

_tikho smotrit myesyats yasný_

_f kolýbyel tvayu._

_Stanu skazývat' ya skazki,_

_pyesenki spayu,_

_tý-zh dremli, zakrývshi glazki,_

_bayushki bayu,"_

Scout's head bobbed again his chest, which rose and fell with an easy rhythm.

"_Sim uznayesh, budit vremya,_

_branoye zhityo,_

_smyelo vdyenish nogu f stremya_

_i vazmyosh ruzhyo._

_Ya sedeltse boyevoye_

_sholkom razoshyu._

_Spi, ditya mayo radnoye,_

_bayushki bayu."_

The Heavy Weapons Guy sang the sweet lullaby twice, three times, four, until he was absolutely certain Scout was asleep. He didn't stop his rocking, though. Just in case.

"Zat vas a beautiful song, Herr Heavy."

Medic stood in the doorway, looking like he'd been through hell and back. He pulled off his gloves with a resounding snap. "I vish I knew vhat it meant."

Heavy shrugged with a small, satisfied smile. "Was hard growing up in my village. Many nights we went to bed with empty stomachs. My mama would sing this song to my leetle sisters and I every night to..." he furrowed his brow in contemplation, "what is term…make us feel better." He nodded.

"How are your sisters?"

Heavy shrugged again. "Good. I have not heard from them in some time."

It was perfectly normal conversation conducted by a blood- and dirt-splattered German doctor and a husky Russian who just so happened to be cradling a twenty-one-year-old child.

Medic crossed the office in a few strides, grabbed the ibuprofen, and swallowed down a few more pills. He grimaced as he set the bottle down. "Ze rest of ze team is vondering vhere ve are. Ve should probably let them know ve are still alive."

"Da." Heavy rose. "I will be putting Scout to bed anyway. Jarate Man and Spy, they have stopped their fighting?"

"For ze moment ze have united in a common dislike for ze toymaker," Medic snorted, "I believe ze were sharing smokes out back vhen I came back in."

Heavy chortled. "All is well again for now. See you soon, doktor."

The door shut behind him and for a moment all Medic could feel was an instant claustrophobia, his chest tightening and a cold sweat breaking over his brow. No, it was ridiculous, that door was going to open when he tugged on it!

The panic passed and was replaced by a hollow sense of loneliness. But despite being so lonely Medic couldn't bring himself to join his rowdy team. Not just yet. There was a lot of paperwork to be done and crumbs to be cleaned up off of the floor and never mind how he was going to get the bloodstains off of his coat!—

Archimedes cooed softly from Medic's desk. Medic smiled and held out an arm for the dove to flutter up to. "Do not blame yourself, Archimedes," he stroked the dove with a gentle finger, "you did vhat you could. I could not haf asked more of you." His gaze drifted downwards to the picture frame immortalizing his dear Joelle.

_"Thanks for the candy, doc." Scout's words were spoken through clenched teeth as he maneuvered his tongue around the lollipop. _

_ "It vas ze the only zat vould shut you up!" Medic snapped, adjusting his glasses as he took another look at Scout's badly dislocated shoulder. It was true—Scout hadn't quit his incessant griping until Medic had thrown the lollipop at him. The young man was like a small child! "Now, hold still—SCOUT!"_

_ For Scout had jerked away from him suddenly. "Ya gonna make it hurt more!" Scout whined._

_ "For a moment, ja. But ze pain will ease."_

_ Scout eased back towards Medic, grip on the stick of the lollipop tightening. Medic took Scout's limp and swollen right arm in his tight grip. "_Eins…zwei…drei_!"_

_ Scout cried out as arm bone and shoulder socket were reunited. He leaned forward and gasped. "Shit, doc, that didn't help at all!"_

_ Medic sniffed. "I vould not suggest using your right arm for a few days, Häschens."_

_ "But—but—that's my battin' arm!"_

_ "I do not care. Doctor's orders."_

_ For a time Scout pouted. His eyes drifted to the picture of the beautiful woman on Medic's desk before looking up to meet the Medic's icy blue eyes. "Ya afraid of death, doc?" he asked softly._

_ "Vhat makes you ask that?"_

_ Scout started to shrug, but stopped when his shoulder protested the action. "I dunno, I was just thinkin' 'bout it today. I'm kinda afraid of death, a little bit. It's scary, y'know? The mysterious beyond and all that."_

_ "Hm. If you must know, I am not afraid of dying."_

_ "'Cause-a ya Medigun?"_

_ Medic shook his head. "Hardly. I am just old enough to know zere are fates are worse zan death."_

_ He didn't miss the way Scout's eyes flickered to the picture and back. He turned away even as Scout asked in a respectful, lowered voice: "Is if all right if I ask, doc? What happened to her?"_

_ "No, it is not all right." Medic snapped. _

_ "Sorry, I was just—"_

_ "Don't you haf somewhere to be, Häschens?"_

_ A heavy silence followed before Medic heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back. "Yeah, I guess ya right. See ya at dinner, doc."_

"Dresden vas supposed to be safe," Medic murmured to the still Archimedes, "zey promised me it vould be safe." He screwed his eyes and clenched his fists as the riptide of dark memories swept him backwards twenty-three years.

Archimedes nipped at his ear, and the action dragged him back into the present. Medic winced as he uncurled his fists—he'd been clenching them so tightly he'd drawn his own blood.

"Tut mir leid, Joelle…"

* * *

All right, I mentioned Dresden, let's see how long I can go without a Slaughterhouse-Five reference. Kurt Vonnegut is my homie.

The lullaby Heavy sings is called Cossack's Lullaby. You all had better damn appreciate the amount of time that went into researching lullabies in a language I can't speak, let alone sing. (Although Cossack's Lullaby does fit Scout surprisingly well...)

Up next: Stop! 'Cause it's ENGIIIE TIIIIME.

Thanks for reading! :D

~Chaos


	9. Tinker Toymaker Scout Drive

_****_"Say, Chaos-"

"Yes, audience?"

"That sure is a nice cover you've got there! Did you draw that?"

"Nope! My wonderful, fabulous, amazing beta Belphegor drew that as a surprise for me! Isn't it cool!"

"Sure is, Chaos! She's a good artist!"

"She sure is, audience. And if you like, you can find more of her artwork (and a larger image of my cover!) on her Deviantart profile, The-French-Belphegor!"

"Whoa, she's French too?!"

"That's right, audience, in addition to being super nice, funny, and a great artist, Bel is also a bilingual badass! The more you know, audience. The more you know."

**Blah blah blah don't own anything!**

* * *

**Chapter**_** Eight: Tinker Toymaker Scout Drive**_

"Mister Hale—"

"HELEN PLEASE ACCEPT!"

"Really now, Mister Hale—"

"MY LIFE ISN'T COMPLETE WITHOUT YOU!"

"_Hale_—"

"IF YOU WON'T ACCEPT DINNER WE COULD HAVE COFFEE—"

"_Saxton! I'm calling to discuss the latest shipment of ammo, not dinner dates!_"

"…you used to like our dinner dates, Helen."

Helen, better known to all who feared her as the Administrator, pinched the bridge of her nose and prayed for patience. Trying to communicate with Saxton Hale was like trying to teach a pig to walk on hind legs. Tiring and completely useless. "Put Bidwell on."

From the telescreen Saxton Hale visibly deflated. Even his mustache seemed to have lost a bit of its shine. He slunk off-screen, and Helen could hear him calling for his erstwhile assistant.

As Bidwell's high-pitched, nervous voice argued with Saxton off-screen ("Frankly, sir, she terrifies me!") a blinking red phone icon appeared at the bottom of the telescreen. Helen stared at with a mixture of irritation and confusion. The RED team? What could they possibly want?

She cut off the feed to Mann Co. and pressed a button on her enormous desk. Another, larger telescreen appeared, bringing a nervous-looking RED Medic along with it. Helen held an unlit cigarette to her lips. "Doctor."

"Fräulein Administrator," Medic cleared his throat, "Guten Tag."

"I hope you have a good reason for calling me. I am a very busy woman, you know."

"Ja," Medic wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, "I vant to inform you of an…unusual situation."

"How unusual?"

"Rather." Medic shrugged and took a step back. "See for yourself."

Helen couldn't stop her eyes from widening. She leaned forward in shock. "What is this? What happened?"

"_Haggis_, Fräulein," Medic's smile was wane, "haggis happened."

The majority of the RED team was laid up in the infirmary in varying degrees of sickness. They were all moaning and clutching at their stomachs in agony. Medic studied his multiple patients before turning back to Helen, his smile a bit more genuine. "More precisely, ze team has contracted food poisoning by consuming ze traditional Scottish dish known has haggis."

Behind Medic Demoman struggled up into a sitting position. "It couldnae 'ave been the haggis! Tha's me mum's recipe—" His rant was cut off as he lurched forward, burying his head into the bucket on his lap.

Helen wriggled her nose at the sounds emitting from the depths of the bucket. "What do you want me to do about this mess? You're the one with the medical training." In the back of her mind she made a mental note to double-check the file on Josef Pfaff to make sure that yes, indeed, he did have medical training.

"I vill need roughly twenty-four hours to treat ze team. And as you can clearly see zey are in no position for fighting. I am asking for a day's extension to ze ceasefire."

It took all of Medic's firm resolve not to crumble under the dagger's glare Helen gave him now. "Another twenty-four hours? What do you think I'm paying you people for?"

"Not to upchuck on ze carpeting," There may or may not have been a mischievous twinkle in Medic's icy eyes as he replied.

Helen flicked a lighter open and sat back in her chair, contemplating the situation. Her eyes roved around the pathetic scene—the Medic who seemed more harried and rumpled than usual, the vomiting Demoman, the pale and sweaty Engineer. They were all there, all right, save for the obnoxious Frenchman and…

Helen's eyes narrowed. "Where's your Scout?"

"Hiding in his bedroom," Medic replied with a forced grin, "he did not wish to support his comrades in their time of need."

"I see," Helen sat back, puffing on her cigarette, "well, _Herr Doctor_, this is a highly unusual request. I will need time to think about it. In the meantime, try and get your team back to, well, _normal_. The ruthless mercenaries of Redmond Mann have a war to wage, after all."

Medic fiddled with his tie. "I vill do my best."

"Good."

She ended the call but continued to stare at the blank screen, smoke rising lazily into the air around her head. Something wasn't right. Helen was a woman who prided herself on logic, but her gut instinct snagged at her. Surely the idiot boy had eaten the haggis as well? And what of the doctor himself—he had been nervous, anxious, jumpy even. "Pauling."

Out of the gloom stepped Helen's assistant, glancing between the screen and her boss. "Yes ma'am?"

"I trust that conversation was recorded."

"Of course ma'am."

"Excellent. Play it back for me, one more time."

**…**

Medic waited a full thirty seconds have the telescreen had gone dark to spin around and address the aforementioned ruthless mercenaries of Redmond Mann. "She is gone, you can all stop acting like Kinder now."

Instantly everyone stopped their exaggerated groaning and hopped off the beds. Well, everyone save Demoman, who continued to clutch his little bucket like a lifeline.

"How much did ya drink last night?" Sniper asked out of morbid curiosity.

"Yer mum," Demoman sneered, wincing a bit.

Engineer rolled his eyes before grinning at the Medic. "Congrats, doc. You mighta bought us another day."

"'Might have' being ze operative term, Herr Engineer," Medic huffed.

"Still, that was a brilliant idea," Engineer chuckled, "food poisoning…"

"Oh? Zat was not my idea, zat vas Herr Heavy's." Medic swept a hand towards the big guy. "You can thank him."

Heavy gave Engineer a small, satisfied smile and the Texan took to rubbing the back of his neck. "Well then, big fella, good on you." He stretched. "I'll see y'all at dinner, then—"

"Not so fast, Tex," Sniper folded his arms over his chest with a smirk, "yer not getting' off scot-free. Seems ta me the only one who hasn't had a go at watching the boy yet is about to walk out the door."

"I am incline to agree, Herr Sniper." Medic's glasses took on a scary shine as he pushed them up his nose. Heavy nodded as well.

"Share and share alike!" Soldier exclaimed.

"Aye," Demoman hiccupped.

Pyro nodded. "Ysh!"

Engineer froze mid-step. He spun around, staring at the wicked grins of his teammates.

**…**

"Oooh," Scout edged towards a half-built sentry, "wassat?"

"That is one of my beauties." Engineer leaned up against a deactivated sentry, "Careful now, Scout!"

The half-built sentry whirred to life, beeping and scanning Engineer's workshop in search of a hint of blue. Scout jumped in fright and ran back to Engineer, hiding behind his legs. Engineer chuckled and scooped the boy up into his arms. "Doncha worry, son, the friendly fire ain't even on!"

From Engie's workbench Pyro dropped the tools it had been playing with. "Mfphm?" it asked incredulously.

"I'm joking Pyro!" Engineer grinned. "There's no friendly fire setting…yet." The last was added in a lowered tone to himself. He scowled as he recalled the triumphant gleams in the eyes of his teammates as he carried Scout out of the infirmary.

"Ooh," Scout clambered over Engineer's shoulder to look at something new. The dark workshop was a veritable wonderland for the pokey little toddler. "Wassat?"

Engineer turned around to look at the object of Scout's wonder. It was a faded picture of himself and his sweet Irene when they were teenagers. They were sitting on the hood of Engineer's red truck, their youthful faces caught in a laugh. Engineer was clutching an empty ice cream cone—the ice cream itself sat melting in his lap.

Engineer smiled wistfully as he took in Irene's freckled face and frizzy red hair. "That's my girl, Scout."

"Nonono," Scout shook his head furiously, "_wassat_?" He pressed a sticky finger to the picture, smack-dab on the truck itself.

"Oho. _That's_ ol' Bessie. Stubborn as an old mule and just as clunky."

"Cah," Scout said excitedly, "fast-fast!"

Engineer furrowed his brow. "Cah?" He asked Pyro for clarification.

"Mhp," Pyro replied as it stacked Engineer's shiny tools into neat piles for him.

"Oh!" Engineer would've smacked himself in the forehead if he hadn't been holding Scout. "_Car_. Yeah, son, it goes fast-fast. Vroom-vroom."

Scout stared at the picture, eyes shining. "Vroom-vroom," he whispered in awe.

Engineer stared down at the boy in his arms. "Say, Scout, I ain't ever seen you drive. I don't think you even know how. Tell you what, once we get you back to normal Engie's gonna teach you how to drive. Sound good?"

"Yeah-yeah!" Scout nodded with vigor. "Go fast-fast!"

Pyro shook its head. "Mhmph fphf hmmm."

"Pyro, that's a myth and you know it." Engineer started to set Scout down again, but the boy protested in gibberish and clung to Engineer's overalls. Engineer pried Scout off of him and lowered him to the ground. "C'mon now, Scout. That ain't no way to be!"

"Uppy-uppy!" Scout wailed. "Uppy, Engie!" He grabbed at Engineer's gloved right hand in desperation. But as his grip tightened he froze. Underneath the rubber glove Engineer's right hand felt…different, somehow. Not warm and a little sweaty like his left hand, but cold and hard, like the hammer he'd been playing with before Pyro took it away. Scout relinquished his grip on the Texan, mouth gape. "_Wassat_?' he whispered.

"That," Engineer flexed his gloved hand a bit with a deep frown, "is nothing you need to concern yourself with, little boy."

Pyro sat up a bit from Engineer's workbench, ready to act if need be. Its hand wrapped tightly around a hammer.

Noting the action, Engineer took a deep breath. "I'm all right, Pyro. He just startled me."

"Mfph _npf_ mmmm." Pyro growled. It pointed to the pale Scout as proof to whatever it was saying.

Shamefaced, Engineer got down on his knees in order to face Scout. When he spoke his voice was very kind: "You okay, little buddy?"

"Uh-huh," Scout nodded despite the wary look on his face.

Engineer scratched at his chin. "You wanna see something, little buddy?"

Scout paused before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Yeah! Uppy-uppy!"

This time Engineer obliged, careful to pick Scout up with his left hand. He carried the boy over to Engineer's workbench. He picked up an object resting at the edge. "Irene made this for me 'fore I left," Engineer explained to Scout while a few giggles escaped Pyro, "his name is Teddy Roosebelt. He keeps me company sometimes."

He revealed the hand-stitched pocket-sized teddy bear to Scout, who gasped in delight. He grinned as he ran his hand over the soft fur, the little hardhat and the tiny goggles covering the teddy's button eyes. "Is Engie!" Scout chirped as he took the memento into his hands.

A noise that sounds a lot like an "awwww" emitted from Pyro's suit. It rested its chin in its hands as it watched the scene unfold.

"Mine?" Scout asked tentatively, cradling the teddy close.

"Ah…" Engineer hesitated for a long minute, looking as if he'd been caught in the middle of a Mexican showdown. "Ah…sure, little buddy. You can keep it for now." He couldn't hide the dejection in his tone from Pyro, who leaned over and gave Engineer's shoulder a companionable clap.

Scout gave Teddy Roosebelt a cuddle. "Tank you."

"Dphf hudda, phf mmm pft hropf!" Pyro stated earnestly in an attempt to cheer up its best pal.

Engineer rubbed the back of his neck. "I suppose you're right."

Scout took to playing with T.R. at Engineer's workbench while the Texan himself grabbed his toolbox and hauled it over to the half-finished sentry.

Boy and teddy were playing a game that involved a lot of head-diving onto the floor on the part of T.R.. Scout supplied the sound effects: "Vroom-vroom! Wheeee-o! Crash!" He grabbed one of Engineer's smaller wrenches, putting T.R.'s arm in its grip. "Fixit!"

Satisfied that the boy would be preoccupied for a time, Pyro stood and called something over to Engineer.

Engineer glanced up from his work with a smile. "That's mighty generous of y'all, Pyro. Sure, I'd love some cake."

Pyro pointed to Scout. "Hudda-hudda."

"All right."

"Mphf mho pft."

"Yes, I know."

"Fhpro hudu—"

"In the name of Sam Hill, Pyro, I _know_. Geez, you sound just like Irene sometimes." Engineer wiped his oily hands on a filthy rag. He gave Pyro a good-natured shake of the head. "You worry too much."

Pyro huffed in indignation and stomped off.

Scout held up T.R.'s limp arm and waved it at Pyro's retreating back. "Bye Pydo!" He started to resume his play with the teddy, but the sight of Engineer muttering to himself caught Scout's attention. The tubby Texan jerked back as the sentry shook and spun madly on its axis, beeping wildly.

"C'mon, ya stupid little gun," Engineer gave the misbehaving machine a good whack with a wrench. The sentry gave a little shudder and powered down. "Dammit dag-nabbit sonuvabitch—" He rolled onto his back and slid under the sentry, tugging at a few loose wires, "damn machines don't do nothing right!" He gave the dead sentry another smack of the wrench.

Scout looked down at the little wrench in his hand. Then back up at the swearing Engineer. And once more at the wrench in his hand. The little gears in his little head began to spin. He set Teddy Roosebelt down on the workbench and stood up, tottering up to stand in front of Engineer. The older man didn't notice his companion.

Scout gripped the wrench with two firm hands and held it over his head, stumbling backwards at the weight. He scrunched his face up tightly.

Something hard and heavy dropped down on Engineer's boot. He yelped in shock and jumped reflexively, banging his head on the sentry. "CREAM GRAVY!"

That impact did the trick. The sentry shivered back to life and moved back and forth in a smooth action.

"Stupid machines," Engineer grumbled, rubbing his forehead and curling his sore toes. He slipped out from underneath the sentry and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at Scout.

"Fixit," Scout smiled, holding up the little wench, "fix—hey, Engie! MINE!"

Scout's smile was shattered as Engineer swiped the tool away, placing it high on a shelf and safe out of Scout's reach. "Nooooo! Engie! FIXIT!" He stuck his hands into the air in a vain attempt to reach the wrench.

"Scout," Engineer said firmly, "that was not nice. We do not hit. _Hitting is bad_. Go to time-out."

As if bowled over by the force of the words, Scout sprawled backwards on the floor. "Nooooooo," he whined, "_fixit_."

"Y'all goin' to time-out, and y'all are gonna stay there 'til you say you're sorry." Engineer picked Scout up by the scruff of his neck and limped to a corner of the room. "Now you sit there and think about your life, son."

Scout scrunched his shoulders up and jutted his lip out as he was lowered to the floor. "Bad Engie," he muttered, blinking away angry tears.

Engineer cringed. He really didn't want to be the bad guy, but his toe ached something awful. He steeled his heart against Scout's pitiful sniffles and turned away.

"No likea Engie," Scout mumbled. He stole a glance over his shoulder to make sure Engineer had heard him.

And heard him he had. Engineer stiffened. Scout smirked. "No likea Engie," Scout continued in a slightly more flippant tone. "Isa bad Engie. _Mean Engie_."

Engineer tugged nervously at his glove. He had gone completely rigid.

"Mean, mean, _mean_ Engie. No likea. Want Nipes. Want De-mo. Want Solly."

Engineer ran his left hand over his face, taking deep breathes. No, there was no way this kid was going to get the better of him. He was going to be strong, and he was going to ignore everything Scout said—

"Want Spoi," Scout said thoughtfully, examining the dark corner he'd been stuck in, "_nice_ Spoi. Spoi fun—"

"All right! All right! You can come outta the corner!"

The cat that ate the canary could not have had a more triumphant smile than Scout did at that moment. He stood and brushed himself off. Engineer shook his head. "You know how to play me like a fiddle, doncha, little buddy?"

Scout smiled and nodded.

"So," Engineer crouched to eye-level with Scout, "it's obvious I ain't getting' any work done today. What do you feel like doin'?"

Scout's entire face lit up. "Go fast-fast?"

**….**

Old Bessie rumbled to life with a wheezing cough. The length of the rusty old pickup shuddered violently. The exhaust hacked and spat out a cloud of black smoke. From the passenger seat Scout clapped his hands in delight. Engineer leaned over from the driver's seat and plopped his hardhat onto Scout's head. The yellow accessory slid down over Scout's face. "Hold onto that helmet now, little buddy."

"'kay," Scout gripped the hardhat with one hand and Teddy Roosebelt with the other.

Blasting Johnny Cash so loudly the windows shook, Engineer threw the truck into drive. Old Bessie shot forward instantly, kicking up dust and rocks. She gave a throaty roar and shot forward into the early morning, down the dusty road that led to town.

Engineer whooped as the speedometer crept up past forty. "Yippie-kay-yay! Atta girl, Bessie!" Over the roar of the engine he called to Scout: "You ready, Scout?!"

Scout squealed in delight. Engineer took that as a 'yes' and gave the wheel a sharp spin. Bessie nearly toppled over as she spun in a circle. Engineer shot out a hand, grabbing Scout as the boy slipped into the car door. The truck completed its wide doughnut with another hacking cough.

Scout toppled over into Engineer's lap with a fit of giggles. "F-fu-fun Engie!" He was finding it difficult to breathe as a second round of giggles got him. He gave Engineer a toothy grin. "Likea Engie," he exclaimed as he cuddled Teddy Roosebelt close to his chest.

Engineer gave Scout a grin of his own. "I like you too, little buddy—uh-oh. Somebody's gonna be in trouble." His gaze had shifted out the window, to the Pyro who was now stalking towards the truck.

"Engie," Scout laughed, "Engie in biiiiiig trouba."

He remained a giggly mess in Engineer's lap as Engineer rolled down the window. He leaned out of it nonchalantly. "Mornin' ma'am," he grinned at the glowering Pyro, "I'd like to order a stack of bacon, some hash browns—"

"Waffas," Scout added.

"And some waffles, if that ain't too much trouble for y'all."

Out of the asbestos suit came a stream of gibberish so intense even Engineer couldn't make sense of it. Pyro shook its finger at Engineer, the other hand on its hip. Engineer just smirked. "Pyro, calm down. I knew what I was doing."

Pyro screeched something loud and awful. Engineer rolled his eyes. "Geez, you gotta learn to relax. Look, the kid is fine. I didn't even flip Bessie this time!"

"MPHF FHG!"

"Pyro, I've done this a million times!"

"Pfro hudda brah—"

"Well, this wasn't the one time out of a million!"

"Fro brudda—"

"You're just like Irene, you're so cute when y'all get mad!"

"CFTH!" Pyro threw its hands into the air. "CFTH!" It started off once more while Engineer just leaned out of the window with a cockamamie grin.

Unnoticed by either of the two, Scout had opened the passenger door and slipped out, clutching T.R. in one hand. Teddy bear dragging along the ground, Scout started off in the direction of the RED base, eager to find something else to do.

**….**

Helen tapped her cigarette against the ash tray. Her eyes, however, were fixated on the video in front of her. She had played and replayed her conversation with the RED Medic countless times now.

"Ma'am," Pauling set Helen's fourth cup of coffee down in front of her, "just what is it that you're looking for?"

"Something wrong, Miss Pauling," Helen replied as she leaned forward, "something that will tell me my suspicions are correct—like this, for example." She paused the video, staring in triumph at something onscreen.

A wicked smile came to Helen's face. "Do you know what I hate more than anything in the world, Pauling?"

Pauling paused. "Friendship?"

"A decent guess, but I'm afraid not." Helen leaned back in her chair, eyes ablaze with contempt as she studied the members of the Reliable Excavation and Demolition team. "No, what I despise more than anything in this world is being lied to. Get me the blue phone. There's only one man who can get me what I need to know."

"Right away, ma'am."

Pauling's heels clicked off into the darkness, leaving Helen to smile at the child peeking around the office doors. "Oh my, we _have_ been naughty little boys, haven't we?"

* * *

"CHAOS WHY DO YOU INSIST ON PUTTING US THROUGH AN EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER RIDE?!"

"I HAVE NO IDEA!"

Up next: There's a certain Frenchman in a nice suit who hasn't had a go at watching Scout yet...

(Seriously, go check out Bel! DO IT!)

Thanks for everything, guys! :)

~Chaos


	10. Let Scout Eat Cake

_****_So here's a little fun-fact, you guys.

I have the best readers/reviewers in the entire world.

It's the truth! Give yourselves a pat on the back. Or demand that the person in the next room hug you. Because you guys are seriously awesome. Oh, and another round of thanks to my anons-Wepul, that one guy, Xarco, Locopinapples, TooLazyToLogIn, and a happy belated birthday to Avery. :3

**Erectin' a disclaimer!**

* * *

**Chapter**_** Nine: Let Scout Eat Cake**_

Spy was the sort of man who didn't allow much of himself to be known. None of his teammates knew his previous occupations, his hometown, or even his name. When the rowdiness started at the end of the day he would retreat backwards, leave them to their silly games, and allow them to wonder about their least-loved teammate. Of course he made special exceptions when he knew he could get a rise out of someone like Sniper, but other than that he did his best to keep to himself (which oftentimes didn't work with a team like his).

So there was one little fact about the RED Spy that often went unnoticed: he was fussy. He was fussy, and finicky, and got bored very easily.

It was unfortunate, then, that Scout found Spy in fussy mode, pacing around outside, chain-smoking cigarettes like a champion and bored out of his mind.

Scout plunked himself down by the entrance as he watched the Frenchman go round in circles, trying to find something to do. Scout held up Teddy Roosebelt by the arms and made the teddy go around in a similar, if much smaller, circle.

It took a lot longer than it should have for Spy to notice that he wasn't alone. He stopped short. "What are you doing here, petit?" he growled.

"Playin'," Scout replied. He held up T.R with pride. "Is Engiebear!"

"Oui," Spy agreed, "and he is just as fat as Engineer too. Now go away."

Scout shook his head. "Wanna stay."

"I did not give you permission to stay!"

"SCOUT! SCOUT WHERE'D YOU GO?!"

Engineer and Pyro came running up to the pair, gasping and wheezing for breath. "Y'all done give me a heart attack, little buddy! Don't go running off again!"

Spy pointed to Scout. "Make 'im go away."

Engineer scowled. "Sure thing, spookie. C'mon, Scout."

"No," Scout shook his head, "wanna stay."

"Scout, Spah doesn't want you to stay! Let's go, Pyro went and got us cake!" Next to Engineer Pyro nodded eagerly.

And then, much to the shock of all involved, Scout stood up, moved to Spy, and plopped his little backside right on top of Spy's fancy leather shoes.

Spy tried to jump backwards. "Get 'im off, get 'im off!"

"Pforo mpfft!" Pyro said as it watched Scout wrap both arms tightly around Spy's skinny leg. It was an odd sight to behold, the Frenchman jumping around like his foot was on fire, Scout holding on for dear life.

"Pyro's right, Spah, don't treat Scout like he's some kinda bug…" Engineer's voice trailed off as he watched the spectacle. It suddenly occurred to the southern-fried genius that there was still one member of the team who hadn't had a go at watching Scout yet. Engineer inched backwards, touching Pyro's shoulder as he went. "Scout," he asked in an earnest tone, "d'you want to stay with Spah?"

Scout nodded vigorously even as Spy continued to try and shake him off.

"Well, that settles it, then!" Engineer spun around and marched off, dragging a protesting Pyro along with him.

"NO! WAIT! GET BACK 'ERE!" Spy lunged after the pair, but the excessive wait on his leg just caused him to topple over. He glared at Scout as the giggly boy crawled up onto his chest. "What do you want?"

"Play!" Scout scooped up T.R. as he spoke, presenting him to Spy. "Spoi play?"

"I do not play. Get off of me this instant!" The weight of the boy seemed to be crushing Spy's chest, although that might just have been his flair for dramatics talking.

The door to the base opened, and out stepped Sniper with a fresh cup of coffee.

"Lawrence," Spy wheezed, "'elp me!"

Scout jumped up and down a little. "Hi Nipes!"  
Sniper cocked his head to the side for an instant, burst out laughing, and walked away without so much as an acknowledge. Spy scowled at the Aussie's retreating back. "WHEN I FIND YOU I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Sniper just waved a dismissive hand around. Scout poked Spy's chest. "Nonono! No hit! Spoi in big trouba!"

"You told I was not allow to 'it?"

"Engie." Scout nodded as though this was common information.

"Of course," Spy sighed. He rested his head against the ground, thinking. One, he could find one of his teammates and pawn Scout off on them. Two, he could just leave Scout here alone and go somewhere else. Or three, he could actually watch the brat.

Spy knew in an instant which of the three he was _not_ going to do.

He carefully maneuvered Scout off of him and stood. Scout remained sitting on the ground even as the dust from Spy's suit fell onto his head. The little boy watched with interest as Spy smoothed his suit and walked away.

After a moving a few feet away Spy glanced over his shoulder where Scout was. Or rather, where Scout should have been. "C'est quoi ce b—"

"Hi Spoi!"

Spy jumped a few feet more. Somehow Scout had managed to creep up quietly behind him. Clutching a hand to his chest, Spy scowled down at Scout. "Petit, stay here."

"'kay."

Spy started to walk away again once more, only to groan when he heard the faint humming behind him. This time he didn't even bother turning around. He just kept walking and hoping Scout would get bored eventually.

The little guy didn't, and together they walked into the base and down the long corridors, past the mess hall.

"Spoi," Scout said at last, "hun-gee."

Spy stopped short. "So go get something to eat." He closed his eyes as Scout tugged at his pant leg.

"C'mon," Scout grinned, "pease?"

Spy heaved a sigh and allowed himself a long minute of self-pity. "All right, fine."

Scout led the way back into the mess hall. It was completely empty when Spy pushed open the doors. Scout darted in ahead, running right up the stove. "Cake!"

Sure enough, there was a double-chocolate cake sitting on the face of the stove. Spy sighed once more. "And?"

"Want!" Scout pointed to the cake and looked to Spy.

"If you want it, go get it yourself." Spy collapsed down in a chair, resting his chin in his hands.

Scout stared at Spy in utter disbelief. With a nervous expression he glanced between the cake and Spy. Spy smirked. "Go on, petit. If you truly want the cake you will work for it, oui ou non?"

The nervousness slowly melted into determination. Scout stood on tiptoes to reach the cake, failed, and settled down on flat feet once more, apparently thinking. He glanced around the mess hall, eyes alighting on the wooden chair next to Spy. He came back to Spy, handed him Teddy Roosebelt, and smoothed his flyaway hair down.

The Frenchman settled back in his seat to watch the show.

Scout huffed and puffed and pushed the heavy chair over the stove. He clambered up onto it, and then boosted himself onto the surface of the stove. "Ta-da!" He exclaimed. "Cake!"

"Très bien, petit." Spy admitted.

Scout grabbed a fistful of cake and shoved it into his mouth, smearing icing everywhere. He swallowed even as he grabbed for another handful. "Want some?"

Spy shook his head. "Eh, thank you but no thank you."

Scout shrugged and helped himself to a few more bites. "Careful," Spy warned, "you do not want to get a tummy ache, do you?"

Scout stopped mid-chew. He seemed to be seriously considering Spy's words as he swallowed the cake down. "'kay," he crouched down and lowered himself back onto the chair.

Spy's eyebrows flew upwards. He watched as Scout wobbled on the edge of the chair. Ever-so-cautiously, he let go off the back of the chair, inched towards the open air—

And toppled face-first into the floor.

Scout sat up, clutching his head. The tears started almost instantly. "Owie…owie…" He stood, stumbled over to the impassive Spy, and pointed to his forehead. "Owie-owie."

Spy ran a gloved thumb over Scout's forehead. There were no bumps, no bruises, no open wounds. "You're fine, petit." He assured the boy.

When Scout continued to sniffle, Spy shook his head. "You 'ave no owies. There is no point in crying. So hush." He handed Teddy Roosebelt back to Scout, who seemed to take comfort in cuddling the bear close. Scout buried his face into the bear's soft fur, sullying it with chocolate. After a bit he resurfaced with dry eyes.

"All better?"

Scout nodded.

"Good. Now go away."

Scout pressed his tongue to his cheek as he considered what Spy was saying. He shook his head and lunged for Spy's lap. "Wanna stay!"

Spy groaned. "Why? Why don't you go bother someone else?"

"Likea Spoi!" Scout explained as he finished his ascent into Spy's lap. He crawled up further to rest his hands on Spy's shoulders. "Spoi fun!"

Odd. In his forty-something years of existence no child or animal had ever considered Spy to be 'fun'—let alone actually _liked_ him. This was their Scout, right, and not some child who had wandered a bit too far from town? Spy tried to push Scout away and failed miserably.

Dumbfounded, Spy stared at Scout. "What do you want from me?" he demanded.

"Play," Scout replied with a little giggle.

At that moment, who should walk into the mess hall but Soldier, grumbling something under his breath about cheating Demomen and poker. He looked up. He stopped short. A faint gasp escaped him. "THE CAKE!"

Spy pointed to Scout. "He did it."

"Nuh-uh," Scout protested, pointing back to Spy, "Spoi do it!"  
Soldier glared at the pair. "I'm going to find the culprit, and when I do he's going to get a better beating than the Germans at Waterloo!"

Inwardly Spy mourned the idiocy of his teammates while Scout hastily wiped the remaining chocolate off of his face. The little boy looked up to Spy, waiting for him to make a move.

"Soldier," Spy began as he rose to his feet, Scout still clinging to his suit, "it would appear as though—_SOLDIERLOOKAROBOT!_"

"WHERE?!"

Soldier spun around, grabbing for his gun in order to defeat the metallic menace. Behind him, Spy grabbed Scout and ran out of the mess hall.

The Frenchman skidded to a halt in front of the staircase, collapsing onto the first step with a cold laugh. "Cest pas croyable, 'e actually fell for it! What an eediot!"

Scout laughed as well, albeit in a more nervous tone. He was studying Spy intently. "Spoi play?"

It was obvious he wasn't going to be able to ditch the child anytime soon, Spy mused as he took in Scout's earnest expression. Well…he supposed it wouldn't hurt to pander to Scout for a little bit. "Very well, petit," he said at last, "what would you like to do?"

A wide, wide smile broke out over Scout's little face. "Play hide-a-go-peek!"

"You mean 'ide-and-go-seek." Spy corrected slowly.

"Yeah-yeah, hide-a-go-peek!"

Spy smirked down at the little boy. Oh, how he loved playing hide-and-go-seek. "Fine. I will 'ide, and you seek."

"Nononono," Scout shook his head, "Scout hide, Spoi peek."

"But—what—get back 'ere!" Spy's barked orders fell on deaf ears as Scout scooted off his lap and ran away. The Frenchman sulked as he closed his eyes. "Un…deux…trois…quatre…" He hurried his way to "neuf…dix!"

He stood, glanced around, and started off in the direction of the mess hall.

When he peeked through the mess hall the only one he saw in there was Soldier, now shouting at the toaster. Spy arched his eyebrows and closed the doors once more. He turned on his heel and made his way to the rec room. Demoman was in there, reading a thick book.

"'ave you seen the boy?"

"Scout? Nah." Demoman glanced up over the pages. "Dunnae go tellin' me ye went an' lost 'im!"

"Non," Spy paused as Demoman continued to stare at him, "we are…we are…" he rocked his head back and forth as though the confession was stuck in his brain, "we are playing 'ide and seek."

The grin Demoman gave Spy was a mixture of smugness and pity. "Good luck findin' 'im, then. Wee ones, they can hide almost anywhere. An' I mean _anywhere_."

Spy had not considered this. Cursing under his breath, he left Demoman to his book. The cigarette case came out of the pocket as Spy studied the interior of the RED base. There _were _lots of places a child could hide here, and not all of them safe.

The cigarette case was empty. "Eh merde." Spy hissed.

"Scout!" He started down the hallway, grumpy now. "Scout, where are you?"

There was no answer.

He wasn't in Medic's office (much to the German's irritation), he wasn't the showers, he wasn't in the ammunitions closet.

_Scout wasn't anywhere_.

"SCOUT!" Spy would ever, ever admit to panicking, but his heart was hammering something awful against his chest and he was panting as though he'd run a marathon. He charged up the stairs. "SCOUT!" On reflex he went straight for Scout's bedroom, barreling into it with his shoulder. "SCOUT WHERE ARE YOU?"

He stood in the middle of the room, gasping for breath.

That's when he saw Teddy Roosebelt resting on top of the covers. Spy lowered himself to the floor. "Ah…there you are."

Scout smiled at him from beneath the bed. "Hi."

"You are quite good at 'iding, aren't you? You were very quiet too."

Scout nodded. He gave Spy a shy, pleased smile and, to the Frenchman's amazement, he found himself smiling back.

**….**

Sniper had polished off the dregs of his coffee, admiring the midday sun as he did so. There wasn't much bothering the Aussie today. Sure, he still ached a bit from his scuffle with Spy yesterday, but so far today had been peaceful. Life was good.

Or, life was good until he heard a crash from inside the house. Sniper took a deep breath, half-expecting it to be some Scout-related disaster.

"STUPID MACHINES!"

"SOL, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?! THE TOASTER AIN'T GONNA KILL US."

Sniper heaved a heavy sigh of self-pity, wondering whether coming to Engineer's aide was worth the headache. It must have been, for he started for the door.

As he opened it, the back of his neck began to prickle. Sniper froze on the landing, all of his tracker instincts humming.

He was being watched.

Slowly he turned on the spot, staring off into the distance. He couldn't see anything…but that didn't mean there wasn't anything there. He stepped off the landing, back towards ground. He curled his hand into a fist.

"GODDAMMIT SOL WE NEED THE TOASTER!"

Sniper glanced over his shoulder, looked back to the innocuous horizon, and over his shoulder again. Slowly, carefully, he eased back to the base, stepped through the threshold, and shut the door, never once taking his eyes off of the dusty land.

Once the door was shut Sniper took another deep breath. "M'just imagining things," he muttered to himself, "too many spooks." He slunk off towards the kitchen.

The corridor was completely empty. There was a faint hiss, like that of a cockroach. A tall man in a nice blue suit materialized, pressed against the wall and breathing hard. That had been close. Too close.

The shouts covered his movements as he crept down the corridor, butterfly knife in one hand. He pressed a button on his watch once more, disappearing just in time as the black Scot thundered down the stairs to join the fray.

The BLU Spy was a patient man. And, as he watched his scarlet counterpart carry a child into the mess hall, he was glad for it.

He had a good feeling he was going to be here all day.

* * *

Part One of Operation Make Spy Melt Complete! Part Two comin' up!

Up next: THERE'S A SPYYYYYYY IN THE BAAAAAASE

~Chaos :)


	11. They Disappoint and They Disappear

You're all going to hate me for this chapter.

BUT BEFORE WE GET ONTO THAT. This chapter has a lot of people to thank for it-firstly, LilyRosetheDreamer, who gave me such an amazing idea I couldn't not do anything with it, secondly, RiRi, who wrote the bit about Spy's fingers (you'll see), she's so much better with descriptive language than I am, and thirdly, to my big brothers, who are a lot of inspiration without them realizing it. And some thank-yous to some of the best reviewers in the world-Maggot Magnet (who's leaves me laughing until I am literally crying), KingdomofThomond (a steadfast and stalwart fellow if there ever was one), Jinny the Kisaragi (who's sweet as pumpkin pie!), and TinyBabyWoman (who's just a lot of awesome rolled up into one). And yes, thank you and lots of love to everyone else too. :) Trust me when I say everything is sooo appreciated.

The title of this chapter comes from the song "No More" from _Into the Woods_. I don't normally tell you to do things (oh who am I kidding yes I do), but it's a beautiful song and surprisingly relevant if you ascribe to the Spy-Is-Scout's-Daddy theory (which this story doesn't).

**Mmmmpf! Mmmrpfomfh! (subtitle: I don't own)**

* * *

**Chapter**_** Ten: They Disappoint and They Disappear, They Die but They Don't**_

There was no denying it. It astounded the RED team to a man, with a bit of confusion, annoyance, irritation and perhaps jealousy thrown in for good measure.

Scout had found a favorite playmate.

And that favorite playmate was Spy.

The little boy had spent all day following Spy around, and every time Spy tried to dump the boy off on someone else he'd just come running back. Spy held him at an arm's length. Scout just clambered over the arm. Spy left him outside. Scout found his way back in. Spy could do no wrong by this child.

"Scout, eat your peas."

Scout gave Engineer a 'are you really serious?' sort of look and pushed his dinner plate away. "No."

"Look, T.R.'s gonna eat some peas!" Engineer picked up Scout's untouched spoonful of peas and pressed it to Teddy Roosebelt's face.

"'kay," Scout pushed the plate towards his teddy, "Engiebear eat."

"C'mon, Scout, peas are good for you!" Engineer pleaded.

"No." Scout shook his head.

Engineer rested his chin in his hand as he thought. "Spah's eating his peas." He said in a low voice.

Scout spun around in his makeshift high chair to stare at Spy.

Sure enough, Spy had just raised his own spoonful of peas to his mouth. His eyes flickered from his wavering spoon to Scout. The eyes then rolled dramatically and the spoon finished its journey into his mouth.

Scout watched Spy chew and swallow before he pulled his plate back over. "Spoon pease." He held out his hand to Engineer.

Engineer handed the spoon back to Scout. Spy kept his eyes on his plate, swirling his spoon around in his mashed potatoes.

The rest of the team was quiet, watching the scene with bated breath.

Scout opened his mouth wide and ate a huge spoonful of peas.

There was a smattering round of applause from the rest of the table and a few whistles too. Spy slapped a palm to his face.

"Don't be so modest, crouton!" Soldier crowed. "That's a victory for our side!"

Spy peeked through his fingers at his grinning team. "_I hate all of you_."

"Scout certainly likes you, though." Engineer sat back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head as he did so.

Scout nodded as he shoveled another spoonful of peas into his mouth.

Spy wrinkled his nose, gaze shifting towards Scout. His gray-blue eyes flitted over the dusty boy. "'as Scout 'ad a bath recently?"

The smiles and cheers vanished in an instant.

Soldier jumped to his feet. "NOT IT!"

"My, my, I haf all zis papervork to do zis evening," Medic suddenly exclaimed. "Und Herr Heavy promised to help." Heavy shot Medic a look of thanks from across the table.

"I've got ta clean out the van," Sniper rubbed his cheek, eyes cast towards the ceiling.

"An' I said I'd help 'im with tha'." Demoman was quick to add.

Pyro made several exaggerated hand gestures between itself and Engineer. The Texan nodded. "Yeah, what Pyro said."

"Don't look at me," Spy leaned back and kicked his shoes up onto the table.

"Why not?" There must have been something interesting on the ceiling because Sniper kept staring at it. "Yer the one who brought it up. And yer the only one who could possibly get 'im inta the bath."

There was the dizzying effect of eight pairs of eyes turning to face Spy at once, and the Frenchman wondered whether he was ever going to dislodge his foot from his mouth.

Once dinner was over and the very grumpy Frenchman had hauled a very messy Scout out of the mess hall, the team breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"S'a funny ol' world, innit?" Engineer chuckled. "Spah, of all fellas here. I don't think he even likes kids."

Pyro plucked at its gloves. "Pfto grotf gru?"

"Because y'all gotta admit this is funny," Engineer reached up and took his goggles off with a little squelching noise. There were deep imprints around his warm blue eyes as he looked around at his teammates.

"I still do not understand why the baby likes skinny Frenchman." Heavy mused. "I would have thought leetle Scout would prefer you, toymaker."

Soldier nodded in agreement. "You have a way with children and machines, grease monkey. They listen to you."

"That's mighty kind of y'all to say." The surprised tone in Engineer's voice was completely honest. He had been trying his very best not to let the fact that Scout preferred Spy's company to his irk him too much.

Suddenly Medic chuckled to himself. "Perhaps it is moreover nature zan nurture." When the entire table looked him, he elaborated: "When baby ducks hatch, zey become attached to ze first thing zat zey see. Zat object, be it a fellow duck or a pair of boots, becomes its role model vile it is still young. And who was ze first person Scout saw after de-aging? Spy."

Everyone was quiet for a moment as they considered the possibility. And then bursting out laughing at the image of a duck wearing Spy's balaclava.

**….**

Scout peered at the warm bathwater suspiciously. "Engiebear first."

"Fine," Spy breathed out, "the bear goes first."

Ever-so-carefully, Scout dipped T.R. into the bathwater. The bear sank into the bottom of the tub. Scout watched the descent with rapt attention. After being satisfied that the water wasn't dangerous, he hoisted himself into the tub.

Spy jumped back as water sloshed out of the tub. In hindsight, it probably would have been a good idea to take off his shoes and socks before leading Scout into the tiny upstairs bathroom. At any rate he kicked off his shoes and socks, yanked off his silk tie and suit jacket, and pulled off his gloves. All of his effects he tossed in a heap outside the bathroom door—all save the balaclava. Spy wouldn't remove that for anything.

Scout leaned out of the tub as Spy took a seat on the closed toilet. His light blue eyes were on Spy's hand. "Owies," he said softly, looking up to Spy's face with concern.

Spy looked down at his hands. He had short, thick fingers and on his right hand an old bandage was wrapped over the knuckle, dirty and peeling around the edges. Over the other knuckles were scars and cuts, both fresh and old. His jagged fingernails were bitten down to the quick, the dead skin around the gnawed nails encrusted with bits of dried blood and dirt.

"Everyone has their dirty little secrets, petit," Spy answered. "Now you know one of mine." He began to pick at his cuticles. "And speaking of dirty things…"

The water that had been pristine just a few minutes ago was now a dark brown color. T.R. had been lost in the murky depths. Scout splashed the muddy water with a grin. "Yucky!"

He'd picked the cuticle too far and it had started to bleed. Spy hissed in pain and sucked at his finger. "Oui," he managed, "very yucky—non, do not dunk yourself!"

He grabbed Scout and pulled him out of the water as the toddler dunked himself under. Scout resurfaced with a gasp. "Wanna play!"

"In this water? Disgusting!"

Scout puffed out his cheeks. He glared at Spy and raised his hand high above his head. Spy's eyes narrowed. "Don't you do it."

Scout arched his eyebrows and raised a second hand.

"Scout, I am warning you…"

_SPLASH!_

Scout giggled at the sour expression on the dripping wet Spy's face. Spy wiped dirty water out of his eyes with a growl. "Do that again and I will spank you!"

That stopped the giggles. Scout slid backwards with wide eyes.

"Good. I am glad we're finally coming to an understanding, petit." Spy leaned over and flicked the drain on. There was a burbled roar as the noisy drain sucked the water down.

Scout scooted over to watch the water swirl down the drain.

"Careful now—" The mischievous tone was back in Spy's voice, "—you don't want the monster that lives in the pipes to get you, do you?"

Scout started. He pointed to the gurgling drain. "Gulg-gulg monster?"

Spy smirked at the boy's sudden worry. "Oh yes. A very big, very mean gulg-gulg monster. And you know what 'is favorite snack in the whole wide world is?"

Scout shook his head, one hand reaching for the bedraggled T.R.

Spy leaned in. "The gulg-gulg monster loves to snack on little boys—ARGH! SCOUT! NOT THE SUIT!"

Scout lunged himself out of the bathtub right into Spy's lap. He scrambled madly up into Spy's arms and then onto his shoulder, shouting the whole time about drain monsters. Spy reached around, trying to pry him off, but Scout's nails dug through his shirt and into his skin, hooking him there.

For a moment Scout resembled a scared, scruffy kitten. His hair stuck up in tufts, his eyes were round as saucers, and he dangled off of Spy like a ludicrous ornament.

Spy shifted. "Get off."

"No." Scout glared at him, and then at the tub. "Isa gulg-gulg monster!"

Together they watched as the last of the dirty water was sucked down the drain. The pipes gave a satisfied burble and went quiet. Nevertheless Scout waited a full minute before easing back down into Spy's lap. "All gone?"

"Oui, petit," Spy grumbled, lamenting his silk shirt, "'e is gone. Now come along." He slid the boy off his lap and reached for a towel.

Scout grabbed T.R. off of the floor. "Engiebear first!" He held up the waterlogged teddy to the towel.

"Why don't you do it?" Spy suggested, doing his absolute best to remain patient. He draped the towel around Scout's shoulders.

Scout bundled himself and T.R. up quickly, shimming up and down the towel in order to dry them both off. His teeth were already chattering from the cold air. "Done."

Spy leaned over and smoothed Scout's hair down for him. "Good. Now," he reached for the sink, where another cut-up shirt would have to do for pajamas, "it's time for bed."

Sighing in all manners of depressed acceptance, Scout allowed Spy to help him into the makeshift pajamas. He even opened his mouth and allowed Spy to give his teeth a quick brushing.

Exhaustion, Spy mused, had an interesting way of making children more compliant. Either that or Scout was a better listener than he gave him credit for.

_"Francy-pants, I'm booooored." Scout had whined from the couch when Spy walked into the rec room, looking for a lost cufflink. "D'you wanna play cahds or something?"_

_ "Non. And don't call me Francy-pants, _boy_." Spy sneered right back, his fingers lighting over the bookshelves._

_"Gooooooooood," Scout maneuvered himself so that he was sitting upside down on the couch, brim of his hat nearly touch the floor, "you guys are no fuuuuuuuun."_

_ "Maybe if you stopped acting like a child," Spy spat out the last word like it was something poisonous, "you could find something constructive to do."_

_ Still hanging upside, Scout watched Spy flit around the room like a bee amongst flowers. Scout lowered his eyes to something under the coffee table, and then back up to Spy. "Ya lookin' for a cufflink?"_

_ Spy glanced over his shoulder, startled. "Oui. 'ow did you know?"_

_ "'Cause I can see it." Scout lowered his gaze once more to the ground, "It's undah the coffee table." He pointed to the little object in question._

_ "Oh." Spy blinked before following Scout's finger. Sure enough, there was the missing cufflink, dusty but otherwise unharmed. "Er, thank you, I suppose."_

_ Scout gave him an upside-down smirk. "I did something constructive."_

_ Spy popped the cufflink back into place. "This doesn't count."_

Scout darted ahead of Spy as he pushed the door to Scout's bedroom open. Teddy bear dragging behind him, Scout made for the bed. "Go nigh-nights!"

"All right. Good night." Spy started to shut the door, but Scout's wordless whine stopped him short. He rolled his eyes and reopened the door. "What?"

"Spoi stay?" Scout's eyes were pleading.

"Fine." Spy slunk into the room like a man off to execution. He knew he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't stay.

Scout slipped back off the bed, patting the covers and looking to Spy. The older man obeyed, careful not to sit on Cy Young's baseball card. Scout had toddled over to his bookshelf, grabbed a heavy photo album, and lugged it back over Spy with many a wobbling step. "Story!"

"That…is not a story."

His observation went unheard as Scout boosted the album onto Spy's lap, and then crawled up onto the bed to rest beside his babysitter. Scout took the liberty of leaning over and opening the cover.

The picture on the first page was that of a middle-aged woman who looked extremely good for her age. She was surrounded on all sides by rambunctious boys. Boys, Spy noted, who to the last had inherited her wiry frame and high cheekbones.

Standing behind the seated woman was a tall boy in a sports jackets and thick glasses. His serious expression was ruined by the boy with slicked-back hair leaning against his shoulder, giving the camera the kind of smile where the viewer just knew he was a smartass. A third, mousy-looking boy stood to their side with a shy smile. His hair stuck up at the back, much in the way Scout's did. Four younger boys were scattered on the floor. Another in glasses, one flexing his muscles, one sticking his tongue out at the camera and the last not even looking at the camera, his expression dreamy and far-away.

And the last, littlest boy sat in his mother's lap, looking up at her with complete adoration.

"Mama," Scout whispered, tracing a finger down the photo.

Curious despite himself, Spy eased the picture out of its protective film. The back read:

_The Collins Boys, 1950. Daniel, Charles, Sean, Mack, Liam, Ian, Billy and Scout. _

The handwriting was feminine, each name written in careful, loving cursive. Spy studied it a moment longer before he felt Scout growing restless next to him. He tucked the picture back, trying to ignore the painful lump in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard, and suddenly the lump was full of glass, shredding his throat raw.

The album was chock-full of Scout's brothers—Danny posing with a medal, Charlie with a girl, Sean showing off his new bike, Mack and Liam in the midst of an argument, Charlie with another girl, Billy feeding pigeons at the park, Scout with his very first baseball bat, Charlie with a different girl…

Spy took in the pictures with an eagerness that might have been embarrassing in any other situation. However, there was something missing from this family album and it didn't take Spy long to figure out what. "Scout, where is your papa?"

Scout puffed out his cheeks as he thought. He flipped through a couple thick pages before he found the page he was looking for. He pointed to the picture, looking up at Spy with a quizzical expression. "Papa?"

It was a picture of his mother laughing with an old man, his hair gray and mustache thick.

Spy shook his head. "No, erm…your daddy, Scout. Where is your daddy?"

"Dunno." Scout sighed. He opened the album up to the very back.

The last picture in the book had been torn to shreds by a woman's angry hand, and then messily taped back together with a young boy's desperation. It was handsome, strapping man sitting in a garden with Scout's mother. He was whispering something in her ear, something that must have been naughty because she had been caught between laughing and blushing when the picture was shot. Something about the man's cocky demeanor seemed very familiar, and the dog tags swinging from his neck did too.

Spy glanced towards Scout. The little boy was drinking in the picture as though it might disappear if he wasn't careful. A few small tears trickled down his cheeks. "Daddy." He whispered.

Had the little boy bothered to look up, he would have seen a look of stricken empathy on Spy's face. Spy shifted in order to wrap a hand around Scout's thin shoulder. When he spoke his tone was sorrowful and understanding: "You know, petit, Lawrence might not get along with his papa so well…but at least 'e 'as one."

Scout looked up to Spy with a furrowed brow. "Spoi mama?"

"She died some years ago."

"Go Heaven?" Scout pointed upwards, eyes shining with hope.

"I certainly 'ope so." Spy admitted.

Scout was quiet for a moment. "Spoi daddy?"

Spy scoffed and shrugged a bit. "I do not know what 'appened to my daddy either, petit." He had taken to stroking Scout's hair absentmindedly. "I doubt I ever will. And now I think it's time to sleep."

"'kay." Scout snuggled up to Spy. He didn't ask for stories or songs. All he asked for, in a yawn, was that Spy stay a bit longer.

Spy smiled down at the boy. "Of course. Fais de beaux rêves, petit."

Scout smiled back. Little by little, his breathing eased, his eyes fluttered shut, and he sank into a deep sleep, soothed by Spy's rhythmic stroking. Spy gave the little boy the softest of smiles before settling back.

He stared off into the darkness and tried not to think of his family, and what his little brothers might have been like if they'd been allowed to grow up. A faint, familiar pain burned in his left arm, and Spy swallowed hard, rubbing the phantom pains of a hasty black tattoo.

**….**

"Where are we gonna put him, doc?"

"Ze Respawn Room? It is impenetrable by nature, he would be safe in zere…"

Engineer took a long gulp of beer as he thought. "But we're always comin' and goin' too. He could slip out without us ever knowing."

Sniper cleared his throat. "How 'bout the infirmary? S'far enough from the action…"

"I vould rather put him your van," Medic growled, "do you know how unsafe it vould be to leave Scout in ze infirmary for too long, by himself?"

The seven members of the RED team were standing in front of Sniper's van. The Aussie had coaxed a fire to life, and now they crowded around it as they argued, safe from any potential hostile ears.

Just a few minutes ago Medic had come running to them, out of breath and glasses askew.

The Administrator had given him her answer about an extended ceasefire.

And that answer had been a firm, resounding no.

Now they were left with the issue of just what to do with Scout come morning.

"We could always—"

"We are not gonna put 'im in the middle o' the action, Sol, so forget 'bout it."

At Demoman's words Soldier deflated. "Just a suggestion. I take it the grease monkey's sacred domain is off-limits to small children?"

"That would be a firm yes." Engineer breathed out. "What are we gonna do?"

For once, nobody had an answer.

**….**

Faint voices carrying outside caused Spy's ears to prick to attention. He straightened up, wincing at the crick in his back. He peeked out the window, eyes narrowing at the sight of his team standing around a campfire. They were having a team meeting! Without him!

Spy muttered softly under his breath. Slowly, cautiously, he eased Scout off of him and onto the bed. The boy stirred only a little, clutching T.R. and Cy Young closer in his sleep. Spy stood, stretched again, and walked out, shutting the door as quietly as possible.

His footsteps faded off into the distance, and for an instant the entire of the RED base was quiet.

Scout's bedroom door reopened, seemingly of its own accord.

The BLU Spy de-cloaked at the foot of the bed, staring at the sleeping Scout. He had his orders. He knew what to do.

Carefully, quietly, with the skill of a lean predator on the hunt, the BLU Spy scooped Scout up. T.R. fell to the floor, but Cy Young remained firmly in Scout's iron grasp. "Shhh," the BLU whispered as he laid a piece of folded paper down on the bed, "shhh, there, there."

About halfway down the stairs Scout stirred again. He opened one bleary eye at stare at the BLU Spy, who didn't notice his little companion's alertness.

Something was…not right. Scout frowned as he tried to figure it out. This looked like his Spy, even sounded a bit like his Spy as he muttered to himself. But there was something different, something strange.

However, poor little Scout had yet to relearn the critical difference between red and blue, and thus allowed himself to be lulled to sleep in the Spy's arms once more.

* * *

Oh my gawd what's gonna happen-wait, why am I asking you? (and si, as far as I'm concerned Scout's real name is Scout. *sunglasses* Deal with it.)

Up next: As you may or may not have noticed, Cerebus Syndrome has been creeping into every chapter. The next makes it official. (look it up, kids!).

Told you you were gonna hate me.

~Chaos


	12. Après Moi, Le Deluge

_****_Short chapter this time around, guys, but it needed to be it's own, the calm before the storm and what-not. (And I have the next three chapters finished, so I can assure you it's going to be a VERY big storm).

Ugh I still don't understand why you guys like this so much I mean, really, what did I do?

**Naw THIS is a disclaimah!**

* * *

_**Chapter**** Eleven: Après Moi, Le Deluge**_

_To the members of Reliable Excavation and Demolition:_

_ We have the Scout. We know what you have done. If you wish to see him well and unharmed, bring your Intel to our base at 8:00 am tomorrow morning. Oh, and we know what sort of mortal peril the Scout might be in. If it's the boy's best interest you wish to act in, we would kindly suggest you follow our directions. _

_ But don't fret. We're expecting a fight anyway._

_ Sincerely, _

_ The Builders League United_

Spy had read and reread the ransom note so many times he knew it by heart. But he clung to it like a lifeline, afraid to look up and take in the pandemonium around him. As it was, he could barely handle his own pounding heart and the awful taste of ash in his mouth.

They had all thought Scout was playing another game of hide-and-go-seek when Pyro went to check up on him and found his bed empty. They had all thought he was being very quiet, very still, as small children are adapt to do when they don't want to be found. They had scrounged the base well into the night looking for him. There was concern when he was nowhere to be found, but not panic. Not yet. It was Demoman who had thought to recheck Scout's room.

That's when they found the note.

That's when the panic set in.

And now here they were in the infirmary, Medic and Engineer shouting at the top of theirs lungs at the monitor, Soldier occasionally joining the din as he paced back and forth. Demoman was drinking heavily again, Sniper was quickly making his way through a pack of smokes, and pained, heaving gasps were the only noises Pyro made as it rocked back and forth, clutching T.R.

"Please, ma'am, you have to call them off! He's a child."

On the monitor Helen made a bridge with her fingers. "The RED Scout is still a mercenary under the contract of Redmond Mann and the same rules of warfare still apply."

"Ze rules of warfare include kidnapping?" Medic growled, both hands curling into useless fists.

"Need I remind you, _Herr Doctor_," Helen spat, "which team kept the BLU Spy's live head in a refrigerator for _three days_?"

"Zey are…not still mad about zat, are zey?"

"Extremely."

Medic crumpled under the weight of nine pairs of eyes looking to him at once. He bowed his head and took a step backwards.

"That was different!" Engineer insisted. "Please, ma'am I'm on my knees here, you gotta do something!"

"Why don't _you _do something?" Helen returned. "After all, that was working so well for you the past two days."

Everyone flinched under the truth. Sniper stepped up to take Medic's place. "We're sorry we didn't tell ya, ma'am, we were just afraid that you'd ship Scout back to Boston without even giving us a chance to fix him!" Beside him Engineer nodded earnestly.

"A logical course of action." Helen admitted before adding: "Too bad it's too late now."

"It may be too late forever!" Engineer threw his hands into the air. "Look, Missus Administrator, this is a more complex issue than you think! If Scout were to die—there's a very good chance he's dead for good!"

A tense moment of silence ensued as Helen examined the desperate RED team. A corner of her mouth twitched upwards. When she spoke, the ice in her voice could have easily frozen over Hell: "Then I suppose it might be time to dig out the files on the other applicants for the position of the Scout. Your mission begins at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. Do try to be punctual."

The monitor went dark.

A wordless scream of frustration escaped Engineer. He snatched up the wrench from his tool belt and hurled it into the screen. It shattered into a million pieces with a few bursts of electrical sparks. The Texan sank to his knees, clutching at the cool tile floor.

Demoman started to lift the bottle of Scrumpy to his mouth. Then he paused and slowly lowered it, setting it on the floor by his feet.

"I do not want different Scout." Heavy snarled, breaking the silence. "Our leetle Scout, he is good for making us crazy, but he is also good fighter…good friend."

"I do not think anyone of us vant a new Scout," Medic murmured. His gaze was far off into the distance, on the BLU base. He tried not to think about how helpless and scared Scout must have been. He took off his glasses, rubbing at his prickling eyes. "Vhat do ve do?"

"I tell you want I'm going to do."

The attention in the room collectively went to Soldier. The American boosted his helmet up over his face to get a good look at his team, and they were collectively shocked to see the furious tears welling up in his eyes. Soldier took a deep breath. "I'm going to give those goddamn BLU cowards what's coming to 'em. I've never left a man behind in enemy territory before, and I sure as hell don't plan on breaking that record. They took the kid, they crossed a line. And I tend to make sure they pay for their sins." He hefted his trusty shovel over his shoulder, looking around the infirmary as if daring his teammates to defy him.

At Soldier's words the dark aura surrounding the team seemed to be alleviated a bit. Engineer sat up off of the floor. Pyro went still. A glint had appeared simultaneously in the eyes of Medic and Heavy. Sniper stood a bit straighter. Demoman rolled his shoulders back. And Spy finally chose to look up. These simple, angry words were shaking them out of their stupor, reminding them that they were, to the last, ruthless mercenaries. Ruthless mercenaries who now had a reason to be very, very angry.

If Soldier was aware of the effect he was having on his team, he didn't mention it. "I'm going to give them hell tomorrow. And if I'm the only one out their fighting for Scout, so be it. But if any of you sissies plan on joining me out there, I'll see you at oh-eight-hundred. Good night, men." He spun on his heel and marched out the room.

"Was—was Sol cryin'?"

"'e's scared." Spy murmured. "Not for 'imself, of course. 'e's scared we will not succeed. That 'is record will be shattered." He lowered his gaze back to the ransom note.

Engineer climbed to his feet. "Well I don't plan on letting that crazy old fool have all the glory." His eyes, hidden by the goggles, traveled around the room. "Y'all comin'?"

One by one they nodded, and filed out the infirmary to try and get some rest.

All save one.

Sniper hesitated at the door, looking back over his shoulder to the quiet Spy. The empathetic part of him, buried but not forgotten, stirred once more. He sighed. "S'not yer fault, spook."

"Then why I do feel like it is, Lawrence?"

"Because ya were the last one wit yer eye on him," Sniper stated simply. "I'd feel guilty too. But if they hadn't snatched him tonight it would've been some other time. We were runnin' outta luck anyway." His hands gripped the doorframe with white knuckles.

"Do you think 'e's terrified?"

"Scout? Nah. If I know that boy he's probably got all them BLUS runnin' ragged. He's a scrapper and a survivor, that one. Now, do the team a favor and get yer self-pityin' head outta yer self-loathing arse, and get some sleep. We're gonna need ya tomorrah, mate."

Spy felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards of their own accord. "Very well…mate."

Sniper gave him a grin and disappeared, whistling what sounded to be a Beatles song through the hallways.

As the song faded away so did the faint smile on Spy's face. His grip on the ransom note was shaking. He'd been wearing the mask for a long time now, he mused, and it felt like a second skin. He'd been playing the part of the distant, detached, unaffected man for a long time too—far longer than he'd had the mask. It was difficult to show his true emotions to anyone.

It was difficult to admit even to himself how scared he was. And it would be impossible to admit this wasn't the first time he had failed a child depending on him. The ransom note fluttered to the floor as Spy took to rubbing his left arm, the phantom pains bothering him once more. There was a reason he always wore long sleeves.

Spy's neck gave an awful crick as he looked up to the clock ticking away contently on the wall.

The next mission began in six hours.

* * *

Up next: LAST ONE ALIVE LOCK THE DOOR.

Remember when I mentioned the blood? Do you still have your buckets and umbrellas? Oh good. Because the blood is here.

...

Honestly, guys, I'm so terrified of what you're all going to think of the next few chapters. I've never written any action sequences before and now all of you are reading it I mean WAT. And I played around with game mechanics and the map to smooth out the action and I chose to go full-frontal realistic on the violence and what would happen if a person were really set on fire and now I'm feeling kind of dizzy and I'm gonna go sit in that corner and hyperventilate for a bit kthanxbye.

~Chaos


	13. The Ants Go Marching

*sighs* Do you lot know how difficult it is to throw a self-pity party when you lot insist on such amazing encouragement. Geez, what am I supposed to do with all this self-pity ice cream now? I guess I have to share with Bel and RiRi, I do owe them...

PLUG TIME. Have you ever wondered what would have happened if Sol had been turned into a kid instead of Scout? Yes? OH GOOD! Because Chapter 29 of LilyRosetheDreamer's "100 Missions" is exactly that. Go check 'er out, lads! And I guess the first 28 chapters too. But especially the 29th.

**MAGGOTS! If God had wanted you to live, he would not have created this DISCLAIMER!**

* * *

_**Chapter**** Twelve: The Ants Go Marching**_

Sometimes, when it came to solving problems, logic wasn't enough.

Sometimes, when children were threatened, caution was thrown to the wind.

Sometimes it was the ancient, animalist instinct that took over.

These men were already in tune with their primal side, but on this blistering hot summer day those simmering instincts rose up and took over. The mantra of their ancestors hummed in their ears: _Protect the young_.

They were a pack unto their own, cast out from their original pack or in some cases left them voluntarily. These odd animals had found each other, banded together, worked alongside one another—first out of necessity, then out of respect, and finally out of an odd sense of kinship.

Their methods were efficient and ruthless. Complicated plans could be passed to and fro and understood with little more than a glance, a nod, a smirk. These hunters were dangerous even when calm, and relentless when truly infuriated.

For a rival pack had broken that most ancient and sacred of rules: _Protect the young_. And now that rival pack was going to pay for what it had done.

There was the sharp-eyed Australian hawk, poised to strike from his nest. There was the industrious Texan beaver and his protector, the terrifyingly loyal hellhound. There was the stunning partnership of the snarling German wolf and the hulking Russian bear. There was the American lion who charged into battle with no care for personal safety, and there was the Scottish wasp who weaved through mayhem with a drunken expertise. And finally there was the French feline, small and lithe but able to recall the skills of the great hunters it had descended from.

Their littlest member, not much more than a cub, had been stolen from them. And that was something they could not forgive.

They were in position. They were ready.

Protect the young.

_Mission begins in sixty seconds…_

Sniper adjusted his aviators, peering through his scope at the battlegrounds below. His heart hammered painfully against his ribcage, making his chest ache.

_Forty…_

In the base below him Engineer stood over his tool box, fingers hovering a PDA. Pyro stalked the corridors ahead, flamethrower hissing.

_Thirty…_

Soldier shifted in his boots, hefting his rocket launcher to his shoulder. Beside him Demoman peering through the weapons sights of his grenade launcher with a confident smirk.

_Twenty…_

Heavy and Medic exchanged nods from their position by the bridge.

_Ten…_

And somewhere in the shadows Spy crushed a cigarette underfoot, eyes focused on the blue building in the distance.

_Three…two…one!_

Battle cries and gunshots instantly shattered the peace of the morning. In his nest Sniper tensed. "Look out, big guy! The Soldier and the Scout are coming fer ya—"

As Heavy's thanks crackled into his earpiece, Sniper found himself staring a faint red line coming in through a crack in the boarded-up windows. His eyes widened in instant understanding, and he rolled out of the way just as a bullet shot through the windows, showering him in splintered wood. "Dammit," he hissed, grabbing for his rifle and scooting backwards, just barely avoiding the bullets that were now raining through the windows, "dammit, dammit! Tex," he pressed a finger to his ear as he grabbed his weapons and lunged for the door, "Tex! Get those sentries up, they know my position!"

A few floors below Engineer swore under his breath. "I'm right on it, Down Under. Sentry goin' up!" He fiddled with the PDA and after a moment the toolbox at his feet shuddered to life, springing into a sentry. "Don't worry, y'all got a watchdog by the stairs!"

Sniper hissed as the bullets flew by him. He scrambled backwards, across the battlements and towards a ladder that would bring him to a higher—and hopefully safer—vantage point. "S'not the stairs I'm worried about!"

**….**

Pyro could hear Soldier's maniacal laughter in the distance, followed shortly by a loud explosion and Demoman's "WAIT FER ME YE IDIOT!"

Beneath the mask Pyro smiled. Rocket jumping—a Soldier's favorite pastime.

"Sol's gone and got 'imself surrounded by blue." Demoman lamented to whoever might be listening over the walkie-talkie system. "Should I cover 'im?"

"Go on, Demo." Engineer replied with remarkable calm. Pyro could hear his voice echoing down the halls. "We've got the base. Pyro, I'm setting up two more sentries by the Intelligence Room. You got me covered up there?"

"Ysh." Pyro flicked the trigger of the flamethrower, allowing a burst of flames to shoot into the air in front of it. A pleased shiver ran the length of Pyro's body. This was going to be fun.

Demoman's voice came back over the walkie-talkie system. "Oh shi—Sol, watch where yer aimin' tha' bloody shovel!" There was the _plunk, plunk, plunk!_ of grenades being shot from a launcher. "Pyro, the Demoman jus' got past Heavy! Watch yer back and Engie's!"

Instantly Pyro flattened itself up against the wall, clutching the flamethrower close to its chest. The firebug could easily ambush an intruder from around the corner it had found itself in. A heavy pair of boots came thundering down the corridors of the outer base. Pyro flexed its fingers against the trigger in anticipation.

_Fwump! Fwump! Fwump!_

Three blue-colored grenades bounced down the hallway, popping up against the wall up across from Pyro. The grenades lit up instantly.

_Oh crap. _

**….**

Engineer yelped as an explosion rocked the very foundation of the base. He could hear a mad cackling in the distance, followed swiftly by Pyro's exclamations of pain and surprise.

He steeled himself against the noise of battle and redoubled his efforts on erecting two Level Three sentries in front of the Intelligence Room door. "C'mon," he slammed his wrench against one of the sentries as it stalled, "c'mon—"'

A hot wind whipped past his ear and Engineer had just enough time to start before a second, much closer explosion turned his world topsy-turvy. Engineer was slammed up against a wall, his hardhat rattling from the impact. His entire vision went fuzzy and it felt as though a sixty-pound weight had been dropped on his back.

Engineer groaned as he forced himself upwards, taking inventory of the damage done. The straight stairs had been nearly blown to bits, his precious sentries no more than pitiful scraps of metal. It hurt to move his head too much, and when Engineer pressed a hand to his face he wasn't surprised to find hot, sticky blood coming away with it. "Sentries down," he croaked, not sure if anyone could hear him, "sentries down! Pyro, where are you?! PYRO!"

His legs failed as him as he attempted to stand. Out of the curls of smoke a familiar figure emerged. Engineer wrapped a hand around his ribs and pressed his back to the wall. "Pyro…oh…"

It was the wrong Pyro approaching.

Engineer went limp, playing dead as the masked being approached, scanning the area for signs of life. Engineer slowed his breath to a mere crawl. Apparently the Pyro was satisfied, for it started to turn away.

_Where's it going? The Intel is this way!_

Engineer watched, puzzled, as the Pyro started to ascend up the stairs that led to the battlements. There was nothing up there for it…nothing except….

Cursing his stupidity, Engineer redoubled his efforts to stand. His shaking panic made it hard. "DOWN UNDER! DOWN UNDER GET OUT OF THERE! IT'S COMING FOR YOU!"

"Ta the left, doc! Ta the left, the heavy fires on the right!" Sniper's voice growled in his ear. "Wha—Tex, wot's happening?"

"YOU GOTTA GET OUT OF THERE, DOWN UNDER! THE PYRO'S COMING!" Engineer staggered towards the stairwell, only to be blown off his feet by a jet of flames igniting the entire stairwell on fire. Flames flickered upwards eagerly, blocking Engineer from helping. "GET OUT OF THERE, MUNDY! _GET OUT_!"

Silence on the other end. Then finally: "Stairwell's done fer, innit?"

"I—I can make it through." Engineer sat himself up. "I'm coming—"

In the distance he heard a familiar scream. His Pyro's. Stricken, Engineer glanced between the flames and the destroyed corridor.

"Was that our Pyro jus' now?" Sniper demanded, voice terse.

"I think so," Engineer whispered.

Sniper cursed. "Go get yer mate, Tex. I can handle a Pyro."

"Mundy, you're sitting in a tinderbox up there!"

"Go. Get. Yer. Mate."

"…over and out."

The flames were spreading quickly now. Engineer grabbed his shotgun and his wrench, took a deep breath, and leapt through the flames. A scream escaped him as he landed badly, his head aching from the strain. He nearly sank to his knees, but the sounds of Pyro's struggle roused him. Gritting his teeth, Engineer staggered forward. He slipped the wrench into his belt and yanked his faded yellow glove off. A feral growl emitted from his throat. "Let's do this Texas style." Above him there was yet another explosion, punctuated by an Aussie's grunts of pain.

He found Pyro wrestling on the ground with the BLU Demoman. The firebug had one hand on his enemy's throat, the other reaching in vain for the fire ax just out of its reach. The Demoman held a broken bottle to Pyro's throat. "I bet yer an ugly little bugger under there, ain't cha—"

The sound of a revving engine broke the Demoman off. He choked as a cold, metallic hand lifted him up and off of Pyro. He dangled in the air, helpless and unable to move as Engineer's prosthetic hand crushed his windpipe.

"Son," Engineer drawled as he slammed the Demoman up against the unforgiving wall, "I'm gonna wipe that dumb look right off your _stu_-pid face."

Pyro looked away, staring at its fire axe as a sickening crack echoed throughout the hallway. A thin rattle escaped the dying Demoman as he slipped down the wall. Engineer stepped away, breathing hard and fast. "Sorry you had to see that, Pyro." He flexed the mechanical arm as he stared down at his victim.

Pyro stood and mumbled something, pointed to the bloodied side of Engineer's face.

"It's not me I'm worried about." Engineer cast his eyes upwards. Behind him, fire swallowed the area surrounding the Intelligence Room. Smoke drifted down the hallway and Engineer stumbled away, hacking and coughing. "C'mon, Pyro, I need to get supplies for a dispenser."

Pyro slipped the fire ax into its holster, and found its flamethrower, dented but otherwise functional, some feet away. "Snpfo fropf?" it asked anxiously.

Before Engineer could answer a crack of a gunshot sounded overhead. In their ears they could hear Sniper's labored breathing.

"Mundy, you all right?" Engineer pressed.

There was no reply. Just the awful panting of a dying man. And then that too was silenced.

"Snpfrp fropf?"

Engineer didn't bother to stop as he limped in the direction of the resupply locker. "For his sake, Pyro, I hope so. Pyro…they didn't go after the Intel."

Pyro squeaked in understanding. Its hands curled tightly around its weapons.

Engineer nodded, taking a steadying breath as he pressed a finger to his earpiece. "If anybody out there is botherin' to listen…they ain't after the Intel today. The BLUs are hunting bigger game."

Behind the odd pair the body of the dead Demoman slowly vanished. There was no trace he'd ever been inside the RED base save for the scorch marks on the walls.

**….**

Sniper had slid out of his second nest and back into the battlements, slipping into a deserted room. He placed his submachine gun and rifle on the floor, electing to use his kukri. He flattened himself up against the wall by the open door. In one hand dangled a jar of Jarate. In the other he raised his kukri to his face.

_Fwick…fwick…fwoosh!_

A stream of flames preceded the pyromaniac and Sniper tried to not think about how he was surrounded by wood on all sides. His safe, protective nest had suddenly become a jail cell. And the warden was swift approaching.

His grip tightened on the kukri. Sniper forced himself to breathe normally. He had one shot at this. Just one.

The heavy wheezing of the Pyro's ravaged lungs sounded just outside of the doorframe. Sniper made the sign of the cross.

He swung around with a battle cry, smashing the Jarate jar against the Pyro's suit. The Pyro roared in pain and stumbled back as splintered glass dug into its suit. Sniper took advantage of its distraction to drive his kukri forward. Pyro reacted by throwing its flamethrower in front of it.

The blade was diverted, but Sniper gritted his teeth and shoved a heavy boot into the Pyro's chest. The pyromaniac was slammed up against the wall, the impact jarring the flamethrower from its hands. Sniper gave a throaty yell, shoving the kukri towards the Pyro's shoulder. At the last possible second his opponent ducked and rolled, picking up the flamethrower once more.

Sniper's kukri buried itself harmlessly into the wooden wall. Sniper grunted and attempted to jerk it out, but a familiar _fwoosh _sound froze him in his tracks. He turned his head to stare at the armed Pyro lying on its back in front of him.

A compressed blast of air threw Sniper several feet backwards. He landed flat on his back, struggling for breath. His aviators clattered to the floor, the lens shattered. But that was the least of his concerns—he didn't have a weapon. He was unharmed and trapped in a narrow hallway with the enemy Pyro.

Sniper grabbed at the small of his back, breathing hard and fast when pain shot through it. _C'mon Mundy, you've been through worse!_ He struggled to his knees, only to be blasted backwards once more.

The Pyro's laugh was cold as Sniper crumbled into a limp heap. It felt like a child, shaking ants trapped in a jar.

And now it was time to hold a magnifying glass to this thin, pathetic ant.

Sniper gritted his teeth, fighting a churning stomach and the pain in his lower back. He'd twisted something, there was no denying it. But that wasn't important, the important thing was the—

_Fwick…fwick…fwoosh_.

Sniper forced himself to roll, but he wasn't quick enough and he wasn't far enough away. Raw, throaty screams wracked his chest as the flames swallowed him up. It was hot, fiery hot, his mind reeling far and away from the agony. His nerves seem to shriek before they died, his skin bubbling and peeling in the shimmering heat.

_For the kid…for the kid…for the kid! _

The single thought kept him anchored as his body bucked and writhed in the face of the flames. Sniper collected himself for an instant and he charged blindly through the hell he'd found himself trapped in.

Through instinct, luck, or fate he found himself back in the room with his rifle. Sniper collapsed to his knees even as he reached for his signature weapon. He dragged himself to the very back of the room, towards the window.

He couldn't feel anything. His charred nerves were dead. He couldn't feel anything and—_oh sweet Jesus why couldn't he see out of his left eye. _

The fire roared and stretched out to get him, flames resembling greedy, possessive fingers as they crawled into the room.

Sniper flinched and bit back a sob. One hand tightened its grip on the rapidly heating metal of the rifle, the other shakily reaching up to touch the left side of his face. He whimpered at the feel of his raw, bloody face. But there was something more than blood there. Something thinner, like water, running down the left side of his face. _Oh God…Oh God…_

Out of the hell stepped the BLU Pyro, watching the squashed ant shiver in death throes. Unconcerned, unaffected, it turned away.

Sniper looked up to see the Pyro's retreating back. He looked down at the rifle in his arms, and then back up at Pyro. A determined glint came into his remaining blue eye. He forced his trembling limbs up, his numb finger against the trigger. "If I'm goin', mate," he snarled with the last of his strength, "yer comin' wif me."

_BANG!_

**….**

The BLU Scout pushed up and out of the water, gasping for breath as he crawled into the sewers that led to the BLU base. He wrung out his baseball cap as he squinted up at the battle occurring above him. "Damn Soldier," he muttered, not even considering that he had been lucky just to have been blown off the bridge by the RED Soldier's rocket, not blown to smithereens. He started down the sewer towards the not-so-secret entrance to his home base.

Until, that is, a red object caught his eye. Scout stopped short, staring suspiciously at the red briefcase floating in the water. "What the—"

Behind him Spy materialized, slamming the butt of his revolver against the Scout's head. The young man crumpled instantly.

Spy nudged the still Scout to ensure he was truly unconscious before taking his disguise kit out of his pocket. He pressed a button and the kit blinked, scanning the still Scout.

Spy looked down at his new uniform with interest, reaching up to fiddle with his baseball cap. He snatched the eyepiece off of the real Scout, plopping it onto his head before dragging the boy to the side of the sewer, against the wall.

A snide little voice in his head asked why he hadn't just shot the boy. Spy ignored it.

"Yo, I got the RED briefcase!" He exclaimed over the BLU earpiece in a perfect imitation of the BLU Scout. "I'm on my way back now!"

After a moment a voice with a French accent responded: "Très bien. Bring it back to the Intel Room. I'll meet you there. Everyone else, continue to give the RED dogs 'ell."

Spy pushed the earpiece away from his mouth in time to hear the RED Engineer's warning over his actual earpiece: "If anybody out there is botherin' to listen…they ain't after the Intel today. The BLUs are hunting bigger game."

"That changes nothing." Spy responded calmly as he repositioned the briefcase in his arms. "We stick to the plan."

Engineer's breathing was uneven over the earpiece. He swallowed loudly before responding: "All right, spook. Just be careful. This whole plan depends on you."

"I know." Spy stared down the dark tunnel, hoping his voice didn't betray his frayed nerves.

* * *

*peeks through fingers* It wasn't too bad, was it? Because we have three more chapters of this to go.

ALL RIGHT. LISTEN UP, MAGGOTS, IT'S AUTHOR'S NOTE TIME.

So, as may or may not have noticed, the past few chapters have been building up to a subplot with Spy. It's something of a rushed subplot, because the idea for it hit me over the head between chapters nine and ten. I just hope you'll forgive me if it seems rushed or sloppily put together. I did my best. :)

And secondly, Victor Wizard Half-Blood Spy has informed me that EMaAT is the fourth-most reviewed TF2 fic.

...wow. Thanks a BUNCH, you guys. I owe that all to my intrepid reviewers. You lot are the best! I'm gonna share my ice cream with you!

_Up next_: Heavy protects, Medic's Berserk Button gets pushed, Pyro gets angry, Sol gets a brilliantly suicidal idea, Demoman has an interesting feeling, Engie goes into battle mode, and Spy makes a costly mistake.

...next chapter is gonna be a busy one.


	14. Schlachthof BLU

_****_BEHOLD GOOD CITIZENS OF FANFICTION REALM. AN UPDATE.

...that awkward moment when you're actually pretty happy with how a chapter turned out and thus have nothing to complain about in the AN-Oh look, a Slaughterhouse-Five reference!

**KA-BOOM! This is the disclaim-anating!**

* * *

_**Chapter**** Thirteen: Schlachthof-BLU**_

"Heavy," Engineer's voice was firm in the Russian's ear, "they plan on picking us off like fish in a barrel. They already took out our eyes—" At this Heavy's eyes flickered skywards, towards the smoke curling out of the battlements, "and if they don't go after the doc next I'll eat my hat. Protect him, got that?"

"Da," Heavy replied in a soft voice, gaze lowering to the Medic who was scolding a grinning and bloodied Soldier. "I got that."

Heavy came up alongside Medic, letting loose a round of bullets in order to keep the BLUs at bay.

"Try not to blow yourself up out zere!" Medic admonished, easily side-stepping a bullet aimed his way. Soldier saluted his orders with a crooked grin before aiming his rocket launcher at his feet. He shot himself into the air and off into battle once more with a howl of glee.

Medic checked his Übercharge meter with concern. The needle had just crept past the halfway point. A part of him dearly wished his teammates would get hurt some more, because the RED team desperately needed an Übercharge in order to break the BLU's line.

He tapped the needle with a mutter. He was unfazed by the whir of Sasha as the minigun fired off another round, and his ears were deaf to Heavy's guttural war cries.

A shadow fell over him. Medic furrowed his brow and glanced up, startled to see Heavy was shielding him the worst of the firefight. He pushed his glasses up his nose, grinned, and flicked the trigger on the Medigun, training the nozzle on Heavy.

An odd-colored stream of light shot from the Medigun, healing Heavy as bullets ripped through him. Heavy grinned wickedly at his opponents as his skin spat out the bullets that had been lodged in him, the wounds closing over. "WITH ME, DOKTOR!"

His sharp ears caught the sound of a pair of boots thundering across the bridge. Heavy tensed, but there was nothing there. He raised his eyes higher, dreading what he was going to see.

And there, pounding against the roof of the bridge, was the BLU Soldier with a loaded rocket launcher, aimed right towards the Heavy and Medic pair.

Heavy didn't think. He just reacted.

Medic yipped as a calloused hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, lifted him clean off the ground, and threw him as effortlessly as a German Shepard threw a kitten from its jaws. A split-second later a loud blast turned the world red, white, and brown. The force of the explosion knocked the Medigun from his hands.

After what seemed like an eternity the ground came rushing up to greet Medic. He landed badly on his right side. A pop echoed through his head, and a white-hot pain washed across his shoulder.

Not one to be stunned easily, Medic straightened up in an instant, snatching his glasses up off the ground. "Heavy—" he coughed, careful to use his left hand to wipe dust from his eyes, "Heavy…"

The dust cleared and Medic froze.

There was nothing left of his best friend save the blood splattered across the ground. Heavy had been blown to bits—gibbed, as they had taken to calling it. Medic scrambled backwards, clutching at his wounded shoulder and throwing frenzied looks around for his Medigun.

It lay about ten feet away from him by the bridge. And between himself and his dear tool…

"Mornin', doc," The BLU Soldier gave him a dark grin as he loaded another rocket into its launcher, "nice weather we're havin', huh?"

Medic withheld a tiny gasp. He scrambled to his feet and bolted, knowing he stood no chance against the Soldier, especially not with a busted shoulder. _Verdammt, Ivan!_

A rocket whistled past his ear just as he ducked into the courtyard. Breathing hard and fast, Medic slipped behind a wall of boxes, staring at the chain-link fence with a racing mind.

He was injured, without his Medigun, without back-up, against a gun-wielding Soldier and all he had was a puny syringe gun and a bone-saw. He considered whispering into his earpiece for help, but that would have given his position away to the sharp-eared Soldier now stalking into the courtyard.

He pressed his back against the boxes, ignoring his protesting shoulder, and held his breath.

"Doctor, you're a fine man of science," the Soldier said amicably as his gaze swept around the courtyard, "how about we conduct a little experiment? My gun…against your body. The results would be interesting, don't you think?"

With nary a sound Medic had slipped his syringe gun out of its holster on his belt. He pictured the big guns Soldier was no-doubt toting, and tried his best to think about how pitiful his weapon would seem against them. He went rigid as the Soldier stepped just a little bit closer.

"Just consider this my civic duty, doc…"

_Eins…_

"After all…"

_Zwei…_

"I'm just finishing what I started thirty years ago."

_DREI!_

On that count Medic swung around and rapid-fired his syringe gun.

The Soldier jumped to the side, but he wasn't quick enough, grunting as several sharp needles buried themselves into his skin. He grabbed a handful and jerked them back out, blue fatigues instantly colored red with blossoming blood. "Doc," he chuckled, "you're going to have to try harder than that if you want to kill me." He hefted his shotgun up and fired.

The syringe gun clattered from Medic's hand. The German collapsed to his knees, trembling hands pressed to his stomach. He tried to speak, tried to scream, but everything seemed to be stuck in his throat, choking him even as he bled out.

Soldier stood over him with a bloodthirsty grin. He pressed the shotgun to Medic's forehead. "Just one more dead Nazi."

That was his fatal mistake.

Something in Medic's racing mind snapped like a fine wire. With a lupine howl that would've made his teammates proud he tackled the Soldier to the ground, straddling him and wailing at him with nothing but his fists for weapons. A blood-lust had seized the normally calm and collected Medic, all his senses abandoning him. He couldn't feel the bullet lodged in his body, or the screaming pain in his shoulder. He was aware of nothing save the desire to kill, to maim, to destroy, to rid his body of these horrid feelings, to transfer them elsewhere. His mind was far and away from the badlands of New Mexico, spiraling downwards into a madness nothing could have dragged him back from. All he could see now was once-beautiful cities swallowed by bombs, frigid camps full of dead-eyed men, the awful stench of burning flesh and the _screams_, dear Lord, the _screams_…

A hard blow to the face jarred him back to the present. Medic fell off of the Soldier, clutching at the side of his face even as he watched the American scramble up; howling at the pain his smashed and bloodied face no doubt caused him. "YOU FUCKING KRAUT!"

Medic's breath came in swift bursts. The adrenaline rush was over, leaving him limp and paralyzed, unable to do anything as the Soldier kicked him in the stomach, grabbed him by the lab coat, and wrapped two thick hands around Medic's head.

A wheezing laugh escaped Medic.

"What's so funny, Kraut?"

Medic didn't reply, just continued to laugh, bloody spittle dribbling down his chin.

The Soldier scowled and snapped Medic's neck clean.

_Fwick…fwick…foosh! _

Medic had seen what the fury-blinded Solider did not—the RED Pyro.

The Soldier's scream of agony was so horrific the rest of the battle-hardened mercenaries froze for an instant, wondering what sort of torture creature could make such screams that stopped the heart.

Pyro watched as the Soldier staggered away from the dead Medic, writhing helplessly as fire melted flesh from bone. No emotion could escape Pyro's mask. The blank eyes looked on without empathy, without concern, without the slightest hint of remorse. They were the same blank eyes some claimed Death possessed.

Pyro crouched down, gently shutting the unseeing eyes of Medic. "Rrengie," it murmured, causing Engineer to start from in the base, the Texan not used to Pyro communicating. "mmpfto froph…"

A groan cut it off. The BLU Soldier staggered to and fro, his eyes full of loathing. Most of his flesh was seared and bubbling, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. Pyro glanced down at the dead Medic, back up the Soldier, and dropped its flamethrower. From the holster slung across its back it produced its fire ax.

Pyro twirled the weapon around, allowing the sunlight to glint off of the steel, and stepped forward to finish its handiwork.

**….**

"They got the doc."

Engineer's simple statement across the walkie-talkie system caused Demoman to swear heavily and he felt Soldier stiffen beside him. "He'll be back in fifteen minutes," Soldier assured, more to himself than anyone else.

"That's fifteen minutes where we can't afford to lose anyone else," Engineer scolded. "I've got the dispenser up, but that's a poor man's substitute. You two be careful now!"

For Demoman and Soldier had successfully made it to the BLU side of the bridge, and now stood back-to-base, firing off rounds in every direction that had so much as a hint of blue. A well-timed rocket courtesy of Soldier forced the badly-bleeding Heavy backwards in the entryway.

Sweat trickled into Demoman's good eye, and he swore again as his aim missed its mark. Nevertheless his grenades exploded close enough to the BLU Sniper to send him flying, hoping stunning him out of battle for a few minutes. "Tha' should keep 'im off his feet fer a bit, aye?"

"Atta boy, Cyclops!" Soldier crowed, using the momentary disappearance of the BLUs to take a deep breath and reload his ammo.

Demoman passed him the flask he used on the battlefield, not even bothered when Soldier took a more than fair swing of ale. He popped a few more grenades into the launcher, head titled to the side as he listened to the silence. "Where are they—"

"I AM CHARGED!"

The triumphant cry from the depths of the BLU base sent Soldier and Demoman scrambling backwards towards the bridge, flask abandoned on the ground.

A blue hue emitted around the entryway of the base, preceded by the Heavy's euphoric yell of blood-lust. An Übercharge was a special kind of drug—every mercenary knew that. Under its effect one became literally invincible, and went for the most dangerous targets without fear.

Soldier wondered briefly who the BLUs would want out of the battle. Then he glanced to his left, saw the sweating and grim-faced Demoman, stickybomb launcher hanging from its holster.

And that's when Jane Doe got himself a brilliant idea.

A brilliant, suicidal, and _oh-so-stupid_ idea.

"Blow it to hell," he snarled, and before Demoman could even process what he was asking for, Soldier bolted back to the BLU base. Demoman was after him in an instant, yelling at the top of his lungs about 'What the Texan said' and 'OUR BASE IS THE OTHER ONE, YE BLOODY FOOKIN' IDIOT!"

Soldier didn't even look backwards, just jammed a finger towards the entryway as he bolted into the enemy base, a rocket announcing his arrival. The Heavy answered his challenge with a wordless roar and the whir of a minigun.

A few grunts of pain sounded from inside the base. "COME AND GET ME, PINKO!"

Demoman slowed to a halt, eye widening as he realized what Soldier wanted him to do. He swapped weapons in an instant, firing a round of sticky bombs around the entryway. "GOOD TO GO, SOL!" he thundered, dancing backwards as he reached for the detonator.

A faint blue blur appeared out of the corner of his good eye, and a half-second later a bat collided with his stomach. Demoman went flying from the force of the blow, trying to find the breath that had been left in the air somewhere above him. He crawled to his feet, fighting the urge to vomit as his aching stomach churned.

The BLU Scout stood before him, panting and soaking wet. He clung to his bat, exhausted from the effort it cost him to move but refusing to let it show. "Too slow, knucklehead," he sneered, but there was a clear waver in his voice.

"Ye look like ye been ta hell an' back, laddie." Demoman replied, one hand reaching for his stickybomb launcher.

The stickybomb launcher that wasn't there.

Under more relaxed circumstances Demoman would've happily reflected on the sensation of one's heart leaping into his throat at the same time his stomach dropped to his feet. An interesting, if completely nauseating, experience. His good eye flickered to the stickybomb launcher resting in the dust, right where he'd been before the Scout had attacked.

From the noises inside the base Soldier's fight against the Heavy wasn't going in his favor at all—Demoman needed to deploy those stickies before the big guy made it out.

The Scout followed his gaze, tensing to run. Demoman glared at him. The boy took that as his cue.

He had the weapon in his hands before Demoman so much as blinked, dancing backwards as the Scot climbed to his feet. "This must be real important, huh?" The waver in his voice eased when he saw he had the advantage.

_BLAM!_

The Scout ducked and yelped as something exploded just over his head. He dropped to the ground as another round followed the first, stickybomb launcher rolling harmlessly to the floor.

Engineer raised the shotgun to his shoulder, aiming another shot at the boy. He stalked across the bridge, the very image of an avenging cowboy. "YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS ARE DEAD!"

The Scout scowled and lunged for the stickybomb launcher, beating Demoman to it by mere seconds. He rolled to his feet, clinging to the weapon. It was buying his team time.

At the same time, Soldier was attempting to do the very same. It was just a lot harder for a man do to when he'd lost all feeling in one arm and his blood pumped down the front of his fatigues.

The BLU Heavy glowed like some terrible avenging angel, eyes crystalline with an insane euphoria. "LEETLE MAN IS DEAD!"

Soldier glanced over his shoulder, blinking blood and sweat out of his eyes. His vision was going fuzzy, but he could make out some sort of struggle outside. He glanced up towards the stickybombs waiting to be detonated.

Soldier forced his trembling legs to walk backwards, ignoring the pain of another round of the minigun ripping through his flesh through sheer grit and determination. He collapsed just in front of the entryway, one hand ripping a grenade off of his bandolier.

Heavy grinned down at him, the smirking Medic just behind him. "Last words, leetle man?"

Soldier's grin was crazed as he ripped the pin off of the grenade with his teeth. "Death," he rasped, "before dishonor! BONZAI!"

The entryway exploded into a million pieces, trapping the trio under the rubble and blowing Demoman, Scout, and Engineer off their feet. Demoman was on his feet in an instant, staring slack-jawed at what had been the main entrance to the BLU base, now just a pile of concrete. There was no movement from within the pile. "Sol, ye magnificent bastard!" Demoman felt his heart swell with pride. "I'm toasting to yer health tonight!" He started to turn away, to Engineer hauling the protesting Scout against the wall with his fake arm, when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"T-that's what I l-like to he-ea-hear, DeGroot!"

A badly bleeding and horrifically bruised Soldier had somehow pulled himself out of the pile of rubble. Demoman spun around with an enormous grin. Engineer froze, and even the BLU Scout stared at him in amazed respect. "How are you still alive, man?"

"Grit determination, American pride, and a helluva lot of red meat, private." Soldier whipped off his helmet, wiping a line of sweat from his brow with his right arm. The left dangled off of him like some sad limb of a broken puppet. He replaced the helmet and didn't even say a word to Demoman as the Scot grabbed him by the shoulders in order to support him. "Now, where is—"

Something small and hot whistled past Engineer's ear, followed by an odd ping. Engineer jerked around, staring at Soldier in horror. Demoman had gone rigid, his grip on his friend tight.

Soldier himself had just enough time to look surprised by the blood dribbling down his forehead before he crumpled to the ground, a crisp headshot accomplishing what an attempted kamikaze could not.

"Step away from Scout." The BLU Sniper growled, his scope trained on Engineer. "Now." There was a large open wound in the Sniper's torso, staining his front with crimson, but that didn't appear to bother him as he limped towards Engineer.

The Texan complied, one hand going smoothly towards his shotgun as the Scout jumped over to his rescuer. Demoman came around beside Engineer, launcher at the ready. And Pyro now walked across the bridge, ax covered in gore.

"Three 'gainst two," Demoman growled, "and neither of ye are lookin' to put up much o' a fight—"

He was cut off by a smooth southern voice, oddly similar to their Engineer's: "But even if y'all get through us, I've set up sentries 'long every corridor. No speck-a red is getting through my base." The BLU Engineer stepped up to take his place alongside Sniper with a huge grin. "Don't worry, we ain't hurt the boy. So why don't you just lay your weapons down and call it a day?"

"We don't have to get through the base," Engineer's voice went even deeper and throatier at the sight of his rival, "we just have to stall."

Engineer could see his counterpart's eyes widen in instantaneous understanding. The three remaining BLUs exchanged glances.

"Y'all are going to be sorry," he continued as Pyro took its place beside him, "because in about ten minutes y'all are gonna taste the wrath of several pissed-off, not-so-dead REDs."

"Funny," the Sniper growled, eyes flicking to the destroyed entryway and back, "we could say the same. An eye fer an eye, then?"

"Oh laddie," Demoman cracked his neck. A dangerous glint had come into his eye. "tha' was a very poor choice o' words."

**….**

Several loud knocks sounded against the door of the Intelligence Room, making the BLU Spy jump a bit. He glanced towards the sniffling child pressing himself as far back into a corner as he could go before straightening up. "Who is it?"

"It's Santy Claus, chucklehead, who do ya think it is?" Scout's irritated voice replied from outside the door. "Open the damn door, the briefcase is heavy!"

Spy crossed the room in several swift strides and wrenched the door open, allowing the staggering Scout inside.

The RED Spy did his best not to look like he was desperately scanning the room for Scout as he made his way to the table. He spotted the boy, looking pale and scared but otherwise unharmed, in a corner of the room. Withholding a sigh of relief, he slammed his red briefcase down on the table. "Y'know, those REDs are a buncha pushovers—"

The sensation of a cold barrel of a gun being pressed to his neck silenced him instantly.

"Oh Philippe," There was a twinge of disappointment in the BLU Spy's voice as he cocked the revolver, "you're never going to learn, are you?"

* * *

OOOOOOOOOOH MYYYYYYYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD.

Up next: Engie does some more badass things and generally is awesome and amazing. Also there's some Spah vs. Spoi and lil' Scout being adorable and SPY'S BACKSTORY.

...but I doubt any of you are interested in that. You're just here for Engie.


	15. Uncloak and Dagger

It's just occurred me that I've lied to you guys twice in a row. Once, when I said "we have three more chapters of this" and some people got worried, but fear not! The final chapter count for this story will be 18. Also I mentioned Spy's backstory, but you're not going to get that proper until next chapter, so here, deal with some maddening hints instead.

It also just occurred to me that I've kinda made Spy terrible at spying. Oops.

**...You got blood on my disclaimer.**

* * *

_**Chapter Fourteen: Uncloak and Dagger**_

"'ow did you know it was me, Louis?"

Philippe felt a flash of heat against his back. Louis' cigarette lighter. The little puff of flame was enough to disable his disguise, and as Philippe morphed back into a tall scarlet Frenchman he bit back a sigh. He raised his hands into the air and turned slowly, glowering at his old colleague.

"SPOI!" Scout jumped up from the corner, all fear vanquished.

"Scout, stay there," Philippe ordered, eyes still on the smirking Louis.

"No—"

"_Scout, stay_."

Louis arched his eyebrows as the child sat down again with wide eyes. "You certainly have a handle on him. Fascinating, your secret way with children." He pressed the barrel into Philippe's chest now.

Something harsh and dark flashed through Philippe's eyes. He tensed. "How did you know it was me?" he repeated.

"We reset the passcode yesterday." Louis grinned. "Our Scout would've known it. And, when you are looking around a room for a kidnapped teammate, try to be a bit more subtle about it."  
Philippe's insides roiled in a harsh mixture of fury and embarrassment. "So you're going to shoot me in front of the child?"

"Oh, no." Louis shook his head. "We 'ave an accord, remember? You willingly hand me your Intel, and the child toddles out of here unharmed. And _then_ I get to shoot you. And not in any of the quick spots either."

Philippe inched to the left a bit in order to stand between Scout and the BLU enemy. "This is how you treat an old friend?" he asked softly.

Now it was Louis' turn for something ugly to flicker into his eyes. "We were never friends."

"Co-workers, then?"

A snort was his response. "Co-workers? I hardly got to do anything of the work with you around, stealing the spotlight as France's best secret weapon. You were the ideal secret agent, weren't you? A regular James Bond, suave, arrogant…and _very_ good at hiding."

Louis' eyes shifted to Philippe's left arm. As if the gaze were full of real daggers, Philippe clutched at his arm, fighting back a host of pained memories. "So…this is just payback? You're putting a child in harm's way to get back at me for being _better than you_?"

"Astute, and yet somehow very wrong." Louis muttered. "I'm acting under orders—and I don't intend to let the child get hurt. You do not think us BLUs as that heartless, do you? No, he was just bait. I'd knew you'd be the one to come fetch him. Trying to make up for that great failure all those years ago, are you?"

Louis' words struck him like a physical blow. Philippe stumbled backwards, a white-knuckled grip on his arm.

"_PHILIPPE!"_

"_Antoine, don't worry! I'll find you—"_

"Spoi?" Scout whispered, watching his playmate cower in front of the odd blue man. The little boy hoisted himself up once more and crept out of the corner, unnoticed by either adults.

"I told you about…" Philippe licked his dried and chapped lips, forcing his next words out as though they caused him physical pain: "Antoine and Henri in confidence. I trusted you."

Louis gave an exaggerated sign. "See, Philippe, this is why I could never figure out why everyone thought you were so brilliant. Rule number one: never trust anyone with personal information. It'll just come back to bite you." As he spoke he raised the revolver parallel to his face, aiming right between Philippe's eyes. The RED took a step backwards, still trying in vain to stall, and perhaps protect Scout.

Louis chuckled. "Trying to play the role of great big brother, eh? Let me guess, you tried to push the little Scout away at the beginning, didn't you? Tried to pretend you didn't even give a rat's ass about him. It was the hypocrisy that always irked me the most about you."

"Better a good hypocrite than a bad honest man."

"We're not discussing philosophy right now."

"Louis, the briefcase is on the table." Philippe said firmly, recovering swiftly from his stupor. "Let Scout go, and you can shoot me to hell and back."

"All right." Louis lowered his arm to Philippe's leg, finger tightening on the trigger. "But just to make sure you don't get second thoughts—"

Before he could fire, however, a set of razor-sharp little teeth sank into his leg. Louis jumped and yelped in pain, bullet firing harmlessly into the ceiling. He danced around the spot, swearing at the top of his lungs and trying to shake Scout off.

Philippe reacted instantly, grabbing his revolver from within his suit and bashing Louis across the face with it. At the same time Scout relinquished his tiny-but-firm grasp on his captor. Louis collapsed to the floor, stunned and howling with pain.

Scout ran over to Philippe with a grin. "Isa bad Spoi!"

"Good job, Scout," Philippe breathed, scooping the little boy up into his arms, and then shifting him around in order to give him a piggyback ride. "Now," he flipped his revolver around, pointing the barrel at the downed Louis, "close your eyes."

_"INTRUDER ALERT! RED SPY IN THE BASE!"_

The Administrator's screech stopped Philippe short. In his mind's eye he could see the BLUs still outside, freezing in realization and anger. And not to mention who might be catching their breath in the Respawn Room…

Louis clutched at his temple as he sat up. His next words were spoken in an ugly, hateful snarl: "I spy with my little eye...something red."

Philippe didn't even consider his options. He fired blindly, spun on his heels, and ran.

**….**

_"INTRUDER ALERT! RED SPY IN THE BASE!"_

At the words the BLU Engineer wiped around, his wench bloody from its use as an improved weapon. His RED counterpart lay at his feet, disorientated and nearly defeated. "RED SPY!" he bellowed, giving his rival a good finishing kick in the stomach before darting off into the secondary entrance of the base, BLU Sniper on his heels.

Engineer crawled to his feet, gasping. "No…stop them…"

Five minutes. Five minutes was all they needed.

A burst of flames cut off the BLUs from the entrance. Pyro forced them backwards again with another blast of heat from its flamethrower. Their steel weapons heated up quickly and the Sniper nearly dropped his rifle in pain.

The RED Engineer staggered back a bit too, woozy from blood loss. He could hear Demoman and Pyro putting up the fight of their lives in the background, but why was the world tilting at such a funny angle? Engineer screwed his eyes shut for a long moment, forcing himself not to listen to the din of battle. He needed absolute calm. "Spah," he whispered as he pressed a finger to his earpiece, "d'you have Scout?"

"Oui. I can get 'im out—" On the other end Engineer heard Spy roaring something in French, a child's squealing in the background, and a faint explosion. "_Sentries_."

"BLU wasn't kidding." Engineer muttered, finally deciding it was safe enough to open his eyes. "We'll keep 'em busy for as long as we can. Did you take care of the BLU Spy? I haven't seen that bastard anywhere."

"I shot 'im—"

"In fronta Scout?!"

"It's not like I 'ad much of a choice! I shot 'im, but I do not know if I killed 'im."

Engineer swore colorfully, making Spy tsk on the other end. "Language. There are children around."

It was unfortunate that Spy couldn't see the faint smile his dry tone had garnered. "We'll buy y'all some time. No promises though."

"Time is all I need, mon ami."

The conversation finished just as Engineer caught a blur of blue barreling straight towards him. He side-stepped the blur, shooting his mechanical arm out as he did so.

The BLU Scout yelped in a completely undignified manner as he was clotheslined by Engineer. He landed flat on his back, the wind completely knocked out of him. Engineer spun around slowly. The fire created by Pyro reflected off of Engineer's goggles, and combined with his wicked grin the usually mild-manned Texan seemed to become some demented genius Hell had spat out.

"Boy," he planted a heavy boot on the Scout's chest, admiring his mechanical arm, "d'you know why I call this lil' beauty the Gunslinger?"

**….**

He'd left the man known as Philippe behind in the Intel Room. He was no longer Philippe. He was the RED Spy—a masked, mysterious man known and feared for his ruthlessness, his utter lack of remorse, and his brazen manner of dancing around death with a laugh. And now there was a child depending on him.

The RED Spy was prepared to tear apart anyone foolish enough to stand in his way.

He backpedaled into a corridor as yet another BLU sentry fired off. The bullets lodged themselves harmlessly into the wall. Spy eased Scout to the floor. "Stay here, petit," he murmured.

"'kay." Scout looked up to Spy with complete adoration. He gasped in delight as Spy cloaked. He heard footsteps out into the hallway, and he started to follow. "Scout, I said stay there!" Spy's invisible voice snapped. Scout froze mid-step and retreated backwards.

A crackling noise sounded throughout the corridor, followed by the whine of a powering-down machine. Spy reappeared in front of Scout, the old smirk in place. "Come along, petit."

Scout reached up and grabbed Spy's hand. The Frenchman started, staring down at Scout. The little boy tightened his grasp on Spy's gloved hand. "C'mon!" he chirped, completely unaware of the danger.

Spy swallowed hard, suddenly dizzy, and led the little boy down the twisting, tight corridors of the BLU base, listening intently for the tell-tale beep of a sentry. Everything was quiet, silent. Spy allowed himself to breathe easy as they neared the entrance to the sewers. Everything was going to be all right.

A gunshot echoed somewhere behind them, and at the same time Engineer's scream nearly shattered Spy's eardrum: "PYRO LOOK OUT—THE BLU SPY—" A second gunshot cut Engineer off with a grunt of pain. "Spook! Spook you there?! The goddamn Spah ain't dead, just angry! He's back inside the base now!"

"'ow are you 'olding up?"

"Fine—aargh—eh—it's a bloodbath out here!"

Instantly Spy grabbed Scout and flung them both behind a corner. Scout looked up at him with a curious expression. Spy looked between the corridors ahead and behind, mind racing. The BLU Spy wasn't dead. He knew they would use the sewers. He was coming, and he was angry. The odds were not in his favor.

Well, Spy had never been a man to rely on the odds before anyway.

"Scout," he crouched down to eye-level with the boy, one hand going to his wrist, "do you want to play 'ide-and-go-seek?"

Scout nodded eagerly. Spy smiled. "Good. 'ere," he snapped the watch off and wrapped it around Scout's little wrist, "take this. It will make you a better 'ider." He pressed a button on the watch and instantly Scout vanished. "Good 'iders stay very quiet, okay?"

"'kay!" Scout squeaked.

"Stay 'ere, and stay quiet." Spy pressed a finger to his lips. "I'll be back."

He began to walk away, but froze when he heard the faint sound of small footsteps following. He turned around and crouched to Scout's level, looking approximately at the invisible little boy. "Scout," he said sternly, "I go, you stay." He pointed towards the floor before raising his finger to waggle it. "No following."

The invisible Scout huffed, and the air wavered for an instant as Scout retreated back around the corner. Spy waited a few seconds to make sure the boy would absolutely listen this time before straightening up once more.

He crept back down the corridor leading into the BLU base, flicking his butterfly knife out of his pocket, through his fingers, and into his hand. There had been a time when he didn't have a cloaking device or a disguise kit. There had been a time when the only things keeping him alive were his own innate skills, and a slow-burning anger that refused to let him die. There had been a time when he killed, and his victims didn't come back.

It was that time Spy thrust himself back into now. He had failed Antoine and Henri. He refused to fail Scout.

**….**

The BLU Spy moved down the hallway with an eerily similar hunter's grace. He was confident in his ability to stay hidden. He knew Philippe too well—knew the idiot would try something like a heroic sacrifice. Philippe could pretend to be aloof and distant all he wanted, but he knew better. Philippe was haunted by memories. And that made him weak.

Not to mention the trail of dead sentries he'd been stupid enough to leave in his wake.

Louis slowed his steps, feeling as though his footfalls echoed like thunder down the quiet corridors. He leaned up against the wall, pausing as pain shot through his leg. The bullet had only grazed him, fortunately, but it still hurt like hell. His gaze swept the empty hallway. As he did so, his thoughts traveled backwards to his conversation with the Administrator.

_"You want me to…kidnap a child?" He leaned up against the wall, clutching the receiver closer to his ear._

_ "Do I really need to repeat myself?" the Administrator growled from the other end. "Get the RED Scout, and get out. Child's play for a man like yourself."_

_ "Of course!" he had whispered, rankled at the silent implications of what she was saying. "But that will just piss off the REDs! What's in it for us?"_

_ The sum of money the Administrator replied with actually made the BLU Spy drop the receiver. He picked up again hastily and with widened eyes. "Can you…erm...repeat that?"_

_ She did and the BLU Spy felt his heart literally stop. He whistled low. "Should I ask why you're so 'ellbent on making the REDs suffer?"_

_ "Suffice to know I want to teach them a lesson."_

_ The line went dead._

He was starting to wonder if the money the Administrator was offering him would be worth all the trouble.

He rubbed his leg to ease the pain and pushed off the wall. Every single one of his senses was on high-alert. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up and he stopped short. "Salut, Philippe."

Click.

"Say good-bye." Philippe's voice hissed in his ear.

Louis spun around, knocking the revolver out of Philippe's hand and snapping his foot into Philippe's stomach. His rival went down with a grunt, but used the momentum of his fall to his advantage—twisting in mid-air, landing on the flat of his palms, and sweeping his leg out.

Louis came down as well, and Philippe scrambled up, diving for his revolver. He grabbed it and rolled up again, ready to fire. Except that Louis had recovered as well, and tackled Philippe into the wall. A butterfly knife went to Philippe's neck, breaking through the balaclava and Philippe's pale skin.

At the same time the cold, unfeeling steel of a revolver was pressed against Louis' jaw.

"So," Louis growled, "it comes to this."

"Indeed."

It was red against blue. Burning passion against cool logic. They were evenly matched. It was just a matter of who was faster.

The tell-tale crack of a gunshot fired through the air, followed by a cry of pain.

Louis tensed. So did Philippe.

They were both fine.

A swift gasp of horror crested through Philippe's lips. He fired, blasting Louis across the corridor. He didn't hear Louis' scream of anguish and horror as the bullet ripped through his jaw at point-blank range. He didn't feel the revolver slipping through his fingers, clattering to the floor. All he could feel was an ice-cold dread as he darted through the hallways towards the sewers.

Because that cry hadn't belonged to any grown man in the base.

It had belonged to Scout.

* * *

Up next: Well...ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies. :x


	16. No Light In Your Bright Blue Eyes

...

...

...

...

* * *

_**Chapter Fifteen: No Light In Your Bright Blue Eyes**_

_Poland, 1942_

Philippe Vidal had always assumed he'd die in the streets with a bullet through his head, naïve enough to believe that it would be his work with the Resistance that finally caught up with him. Not his faith.

He took a deep breath as he studied the barbed wire looming ahead, and the drab gray buildings beyond it. A odd, awful smell hung in the air, and Philippe wondered just what it was they burned in those smokestacks standing tall and quiet (for the moment) in the distance. A bitter wind swept past and he lowered his cap over his eyes, uncomfortable having his face exposed, especially with this odd gray snow falling from the sky. The crowd of prisoners was completely silent save a few whispered conversations and the gentle snores of the small boy in Philippe's arms.

A gloved little hand reached up and brushed the gray snowflakes off of his jacket for him.

Philippe glanced down with a soft smile. "Thanks. Are you all right?"

Antoine nodded quickly, darks curls bouncing. "Uh-huh. Are you all right?"

"Fine." Philippe shifted the sleeping Henri to a more comfortable position in his arms. "I've always wanted to travel the world, you know that."

Antoine's eyes slid over the bleak surroundings. "Even here?"

"Why not? I bet the local food is amazing." Philippe smacked his lips, not entirely acting. He wasn't certain how long it had been since any of them had had a decent meal. His stomach curled in painful protest to the thought of food.

Antoine's dark eyes came up to study his face again. Philippe smiled down at him with assurance, inwardly thankful he'd always been good at disguising his emotions. It was a talent that had never been so useful. Antoine twitched, still concerned. "I'm scared," he admitted in a low voice.

"Don't be." Philippe reached down and took Antoine's hand firmly in his own. "I'm here, remember? Mother put me in charge for a reason."

It was true. They had been separated immediately after disembarking from the train, and their mother's final act had been to shove little Henri into his arms, begging him to keep the younger boys safe. He gave her a solemn promise that he would.

It was his duty, after all. He had become the man of the house after his stepfather disappeared one dark night walking home. They hadn't bothered searching for him. They knew the attempt would be useless.

A few of the guards stalked up and down the crowd, accompanied by a handful of men in white lab coats. Doctors, by the look of it. Philippe shifted, subtly moving Antoine behind him. The guards passed by him without even glancing his way, but the young doctor on their heels paused. He looked straight at Philippe with surprise. Philippe glared back with an air of open defiance.

The young doctor's shoulders fell and he moved on.

Philippe didn't relax, although he knew what had stopped the doctor short. It was his eyes—they were blue, in defiance of every Jewish stereotype, the only gift his bastard of a father had given him.

He was all-too-aware of his eyes now as they flickered across the crowd. A part of his mind wondered if his mysterious father was here somewhere; perhaps a prisoner, perhaps a guard. He couldn't be sure either way. His mother had never told him anything about him, and even his earliest of memories contained nothing but himself, his mother, and the kindly watch repairer who would eventually become his stepfather.

The man was pleasant enough. He and Philippe had gotten along fine. But there were still those times when Philippe lay awake well into the night, dreaming that his father might be a prince of a far-off land or a magician or maybe even a spy, and when his duties were done he'd come and collect his long-lost son from his boring old life. That hadn't happened. He'd been stuck in his boring old life.

When he was twelve, though, it seemed his world had come crashing to an end. His mother was pregnant, and Philippe was disgusted with the idea of a smelly, sticky baby crawling around the house and chewing on his toys. He was upset with his mother for wanting to bring another child into the house. Didn't he already brighten her day? Wasn't he enough? Philippe had been forced to console himself with the idea that this was only going to be a half-sibling. Only half of his blood was going to run through that icky little baby's veins. Therefore, he was only half-responsible for it.

It was only when the ugly, red-faced, squinting bundle his mother had placed in his arms after a long and difficult birth that stubborn little Philippe learned his lesson. As Philippe, just a child himself, stared down at his new little brother a sense of wonder and protectiveness had overwhelmed him. This tiny, innocent, harmless creature was _his_ little brother. And he was going to protect this little baby from anything that could hurt him, be it sharp objects, a cold breeze, or Missus Lefrançois' mean, mangy cat.

Henri, who had arrived three years ago, only sweetened the deal.

As far as Philippe was concerned, half-blood was still blood, and half-brother was still brother.

Philippe's promise to himself and to his mother was ringing painfully in his ears as the crowd was finally jostled into something resembling a line, and they started forward towards the gates. The line slowed as the doctors at the entrance began to sort through the prisoners—sending some right, sending some left. Philippe squinted in confusion, and withheld a gasp of panic.

"What's happening?" Antoine demanded, too sharp not to notice what little color Philippe had draining from his face.

"Th—" Philippe took a deep breath. "They're sorting us again. It looks like the old and the children are going to the left."

Antoine's suddenly tight grip seemed to crush his fingers. Philippe winced as he hugged Henri closer to him. "It'll fine, you're probably going to…to some safe place. They wouldn't hurt children."

Antoine looked up at him with a frown. "And where will you go?"

"I'm going to work!" Philippe forced a cheerfulness into his voice was the line shuffled forward. "I mean, they have to have us doing something constructive, right? They'll probably have me, oh, I dunno," he shrugged, "as a part of the band in the prison canteen. I think I've got a great singing voice for it, don't you?"

His efforts earned him a giggle from Antoine. Encouraged, Philippe continued with his wild, on-the-spot fantasy: "And I'll earn a whole bunch of money for my amazing talent, too. And with that money I'll buy us out of here. Then I'll buy mother a nice cottage in the countryside so she can grow old in peace—"

"And what about me and Henri?"

"All the toys you want," Philippe assured. "And some nice new clothes too. A suit like a proper gentleman's for me, and a fancy new watch like Father would have wanted."

"Maybe some gloves for those horrid hands?" Antoine teased.

Philippe glanced down at his hands. They really _were_ horrid. He nodded. "Those will be made of silk," he decided.

"Good." Antoine relaxed a bit. "If that's the case, then, I'll ask the guards every night if I can come see you perform."

Philippe grinned. "And they'll say—" he broke into an awful German accent, "—VHAT? You are ze little brozer of zat great man? Vell, zen, ve vill let you come und go as you please!"

Antoine buried his face into Philippe's coat in order to stifle his giggles. Henri stirred, his grip on Philippe tightening a bit. Philippe pressed a finger to his lips, shushing Antoine.

The nine-year-old nodded, although he couldn't contain his smile. "I'll get to see you every day, right?"

"I don't see why not," Philippe admitted in an honest tone. "Every chance I get I'll come find you."

"Promise?" Antoine demanded.

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Philippe made an x over his chest as he spoke. "Stick a needle in my eye."

"Eww." Antoine wrinkled his nose.

It went like this for some time, and the line got shorter, the crowds at the left and right growing bigger. Some relations had to be torn screaming from each other, and each time it happened Philippe made Antoine swear to him that when the time came he wouldn't panic. Each time Antoine solemnly promised he wouldn't.

The barbed wire fence loomed overhead. Philippe's mouth went dry and his heart was pounding now, so forcefully he thought his ribcage might crack. He was terrified, and he wanted to break down in tears like some around him. But he couldn't. He had to appear cool and calm and above the madness swirling cruelly around him. Antoine and Henri were depending on him. He was the big brother.

Time seemed to slow, and then speed up again. Suddenly they were the ones at the front of the line, stepping forward to the group of doctors there. The leader of the doctors, a short, ugly man with a gap in his teeth, stepped up to a platform, looking down at the starved little family like some dispassionate angel of death.

He uttered something in German, indicating Antoine and Henri to the left, Philippe to the right.

Philippe knew it was coming. But that didn't mean the sentence couldn't strike him like a blow. He staggered back a bit, burying his face in Henri's full head of hair. No. He couldn't just let them go. These were _his_ little boys. He choked back a sob, ignoring the nudge of a guard's gun on his back.

Slowly, he lowered himself to eye-level with Antoine. "Take care of Henri."

Antoine's eyes were filling with tears, but he nodded. He accepted his heavy bundle of a little brother, hefting him up tightly into his arms. "Please come find us."

"I will. I promise." Philippe stroked Antoine's messy hair with a wobbling smile. "Be good."

The doctor on the platform cleared his throat.

Philippe kissed Antoine's forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too." Antoine whispered as he was led away into the line at the left. Philippe watched, heart swelling when he saw Antoine looking down at Henri in his arms, and a determined look coming to his little brother's features.

He looked to the doctors. "Please," he began, unsure if they even understood a word of French, "please, let me go with them—"

A guard cut him off by dragging his arm and shoving him to the right. Undaunted, Philippe spun around. "Please, let me go with them! They're just children, they need me!" He took a step forward, back towards the doctors.

The guards sprang into action, one of them grabbing Philippe from behind, locking his arms behind him as a second punched him in the stomach. A third guard swung the butt of his rifle right into Philippe's face.

The world exploded into a thousand little white spots and Philippe didn't even feel himself collapse to the ground. All he was aware of was the enormous, expanding pain leaving him blinded and disoriented, the steel-toed boots kicking him repeatedly now, and beyond that Antoine's faint screams. "PHILIPPE!"

A pair of surprisingly strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders, hauling him out of harm's way and barking orders at the guards. Philippe was still stunned with pain, didn't care about his sudden reversal of fortune, blindly calling out: "ANTOINE! I'LL FIND YOU!"

Someone shushed him and Philippe blinked. The world had stopped wavering, although a painful and unnatural heat washed over his face. Confused, Philippe looked to his rescuer.

It was the young doctor from earlier. His icy blue eyes warmed with pity as he said something in his guttural native tongue, indicating Philippe's face. Dazed, Philippe raised a hand to his cheek, puzzled and alarmed by the feeling of wet, hot blood. How'd that get there? No, it didn't matter, what mattered was the boys. "Will they be all right?" he demanded of his rescuer.

Evidently the young man didn't speak a lick of French, for he just shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and helped Philippe to his feet. Once he was righted, a pair of guards grabbed him and flung him into the group on the right, not caring when he stumbled and fell once more.

The young doctor was now being treated to a verbal thrashing from one of his superiors. The younger German had started to protest something, but a backhand to the face cut whatever argument he had short. The young doctor slunk to the back of the group, ignoring the dirty looks his fellows gave him, and took to discreetly scanning the crowd at the right as the angel of death sentenced an old couple to the left.

Blue eyes met blue eyes and for a moment an intense understanding passed between doctor and prisoner. He motioned something as if to say "I'll do my best".

It was more than Philippe could have hoped to ask for. He gave the young doctor a nod of thanks as his fellows helped him to his feet once more. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and wondered why this snow tasted so much like ash.

Antoine and Henri had already been pushed to the back of the crowd, lost from sight.

**….**

_New Mexico, 1968_

Except that the young doctor hadn't been able to protect his boys at all.

Except he'd left that godforsaken camp a shriveled, despondent, broken caricature of a human being with shorn hair, bad hands, and more scars than he cared to admit.

Except that his mother had blamed him for the deaths of her two little boys, and he couldn't disagree. They never spoke again.

It was anger that had kept him alive—in the camp and immediately after. It was the slow-burning, simmering anger that he had harnessed when the restored French government came to him, offering him a job within their ranks. They'd heard of his work with the Resistance, and were suitably impressed. Besides, they assumed, if a man could live through the camps, he could do anything. He'd accepted with only one request.

He hunted down the names they had managed to track down for him. Killed them, one by one, and not slowly either. Made them feel what he felt, when his whole world was ripped from his arms. Of the young doctor there was no record. He had simply vanished into the wind, and he could only hope the young man had found peace with himself. It was only then, when his bloodlust and anger were sated, and the small debt repaid, that he could settle into the life of a renowned spy in the service of France. But all the money and the missions didn't help his nightmares.

He'd seen what the anger and despair had done to others—driven them insane, broken them down inch by little inch. The Nazis were no longer a threat, but for many their far-reaching clutches hadn't been escaped from yet. So he hid his emotions behind a classy mask. He took on a mocking tone to hide his own insecurities, a snorting laugh in place of a choked sob. Somewhere along the way he ceased to be Philippe. He was the Spy. And the Spy learned to shove crippling things like fear and sorrow and empathy into the very dark recesses of his soul, where he had hoped they would rot.

They didn't, though.

And now those emotions he thought long dead were rising within him, swiftly and sharply and painfully, as if seeking to avenge the neglect they had suffered all these years.

Spy rounded the last corner with a scream. "SCOUT!"

The little boy was curled up in a little ball against the wall; head buried in his knees and sobs wracking his tiny little frame.

Hot bile rose in Spy's throat, followed shortly by the rage felt by any father whose child had been threatened. He ran towards Scout, ready to rip whatever idiot had hurt his boy limb from limb—

Except that there wasn't. It was a mini-Sentry that beeped wildly as Spy scooped it up and smashed it against the wall with an adrenaline-aided rush of fury. He glared down at the sparking bits of smashed technology before wheeling around and crouching down in front of Scout. "It's all right, petit. It cannot 'urt you."

At the sound of his voice Scout raised his head up a bit, eyes wide and full of tears. "Spoi…" he whimpered.

"What is it, petit?"

"O-ow-owies…"

The little boy tried to uncurl himself, but froze. A shiver ran the length of his body. He curled himself back into a little ball, afraid to show Spy something.

Spy leaned forward. "Where are the owies, Scout?" he asked in a serious tone. He reached forward, stroking Scout's hair. "Show me."

Scout's face was rapidly losing color. Ashen-faced, sniffling, he eased his legs back, revealing his blood-soaked shirt.

Spy's hand froze on Scout's head.

"B-bu-bug." Scout stammered. The tears fell freely now, the breath coming in short spurts. He was shivering violently as his blood-soaked little hands wrapped themselves around the wound again. "B-bu-bug bit."

It hadn't been a bug. It had been a mini-Sentry's bullet, programmed to fire at anything in red, even the little child who had just crept closer to get a good look at the odd beeping machine. A machine had pulled the trigger. Cold, hard, unfeeling machinery that had no sense of morality, that never took the innocence of children into account.

He'd lost his first boys to a machine too. Albeit a far more human and monstrous one.

No. No, it wasn't possible. He'd given Scout the watch in order to hide. Scout would have been, should have been safe. Invisible. But he wasn't. The watch lay some feet away, having fell off of Scout's little wrist.

He had failed.

Spy had gone rigid at the sight of Scout's bullet wound, overwhelmed with guilt and terror, but when the boy's whimpers began anew he leaped into action. "ENGINEER! MEDIC! DELL, JOSEF, ANSWER ME, PLEASE!"

He'd never been so happy to hear a German's voice in his entire life when Medic crackled over the line. "Vhat is it? Vhere are you und Scout?"

"We are by the sewers! Medic, hurry, please, Scout is—" In his rising panic he fell into his native tongue, yelling wildly in French as Scout went slack in his arms.

Fortunately Medic understood, or seemed to understand, what was happening. He assured Spy that he was on his way, with the rest of the team providing him cover. All Spy had to do, Medic explained in a calm tone to the increasingly hysterical Frenchman, was remain composed and keep pressure on the wound.

Spy nodded, although he knew full well Medic couldn't see him. "Come quickly."

"I'll do my best."

Scout had begun to cry when Spy yelled, but Spy shushed him now and eased the boy back against the wall. "It's all right, petit." He assured, forcing himself to smile. "It's going to be all right." He brushed the tears off of Scout's cheeks with his thumb.

He needed to staunch the wound, but he didn't have anything to use…

Nothing except…

Scout looked up at him with a trembling lower lip, eyes trusting despite the awful pain.

Spy didn't even hesitate. He pulled his balaclava off his face, pressing the cloth into the little bullet wound. Scout whimpered at the pressure, trying and failing to move away.

"Hush, Scout. This will make it better. I promise." All of Spy's focus zeroed in on Scout's abdomen, refusing to focus on the odd feeling of the cold, damp air on his slightly sweaty face.

Scout looked up to him with a slightly furrowed brow, surprised to see that his playmate did have a face.

It was a lean, almost gaunt face, pale from a lack of sunlight and pockmarked by disease. His jet-black hair was shorn short. A raised, faded scar stood out on his right cheek. There was some dark stubble on his chin, and bags under his eyes. Without the mask, there was no mystery left to Spy. Without the mask, he was human and flawed and ugly.

Scout's eyes roved over Spy's face with a little frown. "S-Sp-Spoi…" For some reason he found it hard to talk, and wondered if it was because of the stinging bug in his tummy. He wasn't afraid anymore, though. Spy was here. Spy would make it better. Scout shifted, pulling something out a makeshift pocket. He opened his mouth to explain something to Spy, but for some reason the words he wanted he couldn't find, and all that left him was a tiny gasp. The mean little bug was angry now, and it was digging deeper and deeper into his tummy.

Spy took Cy Young's baseball card out of Scout's limp grasp. "For me?" he asked in a hollow voice.

Scout nodded, too weak to talk as he fell forward onto Spy's chest. He buried his face into Spy's suit, breathing slow and uneven. Spy raised a trembling hand to Scout's back, rubbing it in small circles. "Don't cry, Scout…" he whispered, "I'm right here." He buried his face in Scout's hair.

The little hands holding onto him slowly loosened their grip.

Spy forced back a rattling sob as he pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Medic," he croaked, "Medic…"

"We are in ze base, Spy! We're coming!"  
"Non…" This time Spy didn't even bother to hide the crack in his voice, "non…there's no medical assistance needed."

A stunned silence filled the other side, punctuated only by the Frenchman's frustrated and furious sobs.

**….**

The BLU Scout had no idea what had made the REDs so angry, but he didn't stop to contemplate it as he dove through the door of the Intel Room, BLU Spy slung across his shoulders. The boy scrambled up and slammed the door shut just as the RED Soldier's rocket collided with the door. There was a huge kaboom, followed by a wordless howl of fury.

What had happened that had pissed off the REDs so badly? And where were the others?

Spy had hoisted himself up into a spare folding chair, using both hands to keep his shattered jaw together. Scout avoided looking at him, stomach churning at the thought of the slack-jawed, bloodied, and disoriented mess he'd found his teammate to be. Strangely enough Spy was quiet despite the intense pain he must have been going through, and his eyes were alert and focused as Scout moved to the red briefcase sitting on the table.

A rumble shook the entire base, bits of dust and debris showering down on Scout and Spy. Scout glanced his teammate's way. "What d'you think happened?" he asked in a lowered voice.

Spy started to shrug, but froze when the action turned out to be too much to handle. The lower half of his balaclava was dripping with blood.

"They're gonna tear this place to bits," Scout muttered. "But, y'know, least we got the Intel!" He popped open the latches of the briefcase with a falsely cheerful tune in his voice, doing his best to stay positive for his teammate.

The cheerful expression froze in place, and then slowly twisted itself into a look of shock and horror. Spy sat up a bit straighter when he saw the stunned look on the young Scout's face.

Scout's eyes flickered from Spy to the contents of the briefcase. Slowly he reached in, pulling out the single piece of paper folded neatly into fourths. He showed it to Spy before unfolding it, eyes wide.

_To the members of the Builders League United,_

_ GO TO HELL._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Reliable Excavation and Demolition_

It was signed by every single one of the REDs, from the Sniper's tight, cramped name to the Heavy's slanted, left-handed style to the Pyro's surprisingly frilly signature.

Stunned and furious as he was, Scout couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of respect for the enemy. He gave the note to Spy, watching his eyes narrow and then widen.

Spy started to laugh, half-choking on his blood and wheezing at the same time.

For Scout, it was the most horrific sound he'd ever heard.

* * *

Next: The resolution...which isn't necessarily the end.


	17. And I'll Tell You No Lies

Heeeeeey guuuuuys. Is this that update you were all demanding from me? It is? Oh gooooood.

I haven't thank the right people for a few chapters now, so I'd like to thank Bel, RiRi, and all my quiet followers who nevertheless are enjoying the story. (While I was waiting to get this chapter back from the betas I went through the reviews and wrote down the names of everyone who took the time to review, so reviewers...next chapter's AN is gonna be a doozy. :3)

**Eins...zwei...drei...uh...I do not zink ve brought enough disclaimers!**

* * *

_**Chapter Sixteen: And I'll Tell You No Lies**_

"Am I dead?"

"I don't think so."

"Oh. I didn't think so either."

"How can you tell?"

"'Cause if I was in Heaven I'd be surrounded by a buncha gorgeous dames, I'd have a red Cad-di-lac, and the Sox wouldn't be losin'. Unless…this is hell?"

The little boy sitting next to him looked around with a curious expression. They were seated high, high up in the nosebleed section of a baseball stadium. The entire stadium was empty save for them, and the baseball players playing far down in the field below them. The little boy shook his head, curls bouncing along with the motion. "No, I don't think that's right either."

"Good." Scout relaxed a bit, squaring his baseball cap over his head. A moment of silence ensued, broken only by the crack of a bat against a baseball. He glanced back at the little boy sitting next to him. "So, what are ya supposed to be? Some guardian angel or something? 'Cause I seen that movie, and ya supposed to have wings."

"I'm not a guardian angel," the boy replied tersely.

"Uh-huh. So what are ya, then?"

"I dunno. Part of your imagination, I suppose."

Scout studied the little boy for a moment before groaning in irritation. "Great. My 'magination is a pipsqueak."

"I am not a pipsqueak!"

"Are to!"

"Are not!"

"Are to!"

"Are not!"

"Are to and ya know it!"

"Meanie."

"Shrimp."

They huffed at the same time and crossed their arms over their chests in a similar fashion. The little boy swung his legs from the bleachers, glaring down at the baseball players. "Is this what baseball is? It looks boring."

Scout started in shock, unfolding his arms. "Fan-freakin'-tastic. Not only is my 'magination a shrimp, he's also stupid."

"Hey! It's not nice to call people stupid!"  
"Well, ya are if ya don't like baseball!" Scout threw his hands into the air. "It's only the greatest sport in the history of sports! D'you know the amount-a finesse and skill it takes to play baseball? Look," Scout scooted closer to the boy, leaning over and pointing to the man stepping up the plate, "see that guy? He's the batta. And the guy at the mound in the middle of the field? He's the pitcha…"

Scout launched into a long and winding session on the history of baseball, from the rules to positions to the most obscure of facts. The little boy's eyes eventually left the field, finding Scout to be a far more interesting subject than baseball. When Scout paused in the middle of his tirade to take a breath, the boy stopped him short: "You know, you sound an awful lot like a big brother. Are you a big brother?"  
Scout snorted and shook his head. "Wrong end of the spectrum, shrimp. M'the little bro."

The boy's eyes widened in delight. "Oh wow! How many brothers do you have?"

"Seven." Scout scowled at the number. "And then there are these guys I work with. They're all a lot older than me too, so's those wise guys like to think that they can boss me 'round and act like my big bros too." He took to scowling down at his sneakers.

"Wow," the little boy breathed, "I wish I had that many big brothers!"

"No ya don't. 'Cause when ya the runt-a the litter, they all think they're in change and ya never get what ya want 'cause ya got seven boys in front-a ya lookin' for the same thing. See what I'm sayin', pipsqueak? Big bros are dumb."

The little boy was quiet for a minute, deep in thought. "True. But big brothers, they look out for you and love you, and they're more fun than parents since you can do silly stuff with them. And when you have to deal with bullies or do sums, they help. Sometimes they take you out for ice cream, and give you piggy-back rides. And lots of times they protect you, even when you don't know it. I have a big brother. He's the best brother in the whole wide world."

Scout glanced over the boy's thoughtful expression. There was a lot of truth in what the pipsqueak was saying. "They share with ya," he murmured. "And when Ma is workin' the late shift again they'll read ya some stories to help ya go to sleep."

The little boy nodded earnestly. "And they make you feel better when you get scared. Some kids out there don't even have big brothers!" His eyes widened in horror at the thought. "Can you imagine?"

Scout could imagine it. He could imagine growing up with a room all to himself, getting all the best bits at dinnertime, and having all the new clothes his heart desired. But he could also imagine how deserted and lonely and plain ol' quiet it would be. And he didn't like that. Not one bit. "It would suck," he admitted at last.

The little boy nodded.

"So," Scout sighed, "is that what you've been tryin' to get at with your cryptic wingless angel bullshit, pipsqueak?"

"I dunno." The little boy shrugged. "This is your dream, not mine."

"Ohoho! So I'm dreamin'!" Scout snapped his fingers. "What do I gotta do to wake up?"

The boy shrugged again. "I guess you just get up and leave—wait, before you go!" He scrambled up onto the bleacher as Scout started to rise. He rested on his knees, leaning in towards Scout's ear. "Can I ask you a favor? I haven't seen my big brother in a long time, and maybe if you see him you can give him a message for me?"

Scout looked at him with a skeptical eye. "I dunno, pipsqueak, there are an awful lot of people out there..."

"His name's Philippe," the boy continued nevertheless, "and he bites his nails a lot."

"Oh, great. Thanks a bunch. That narrows down the field for me…" Scout trailed off at the heartbroken look the boy was giving him. He groaned. "Fine, pipsqueak! What d'you want Phil to know?" He leaned over and the boy whispered something in his ear.

The boy pulled back with a frown. "Got it?"

"Uh-huh. Simple and easy to remember, kid."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Scout stood up and stretched. He took his nondescript baseball cap off, studied it for a moment, and plopped it on the boy's head. "Take good care-a that hat. I paid good money for it."

"Okay." The little boy giggled. "I promise to take good care of it." He waved at Scout's retreating back as the young man started down the row to find an exit. "Bye! Be careful!"

Scout raised one hand in a farewell, but didn't turn around.

**….**

"AAAH! AAAAH! AHHHH!"

At the sound of the screams Medic bolted straight up out of his chair, his battered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ clattering to the floor. "Scout! Scout, calm down!"

For Scout had sat straight up in the infirmary bed he'd been stuck in, screaming at the top of his lungs in panic. "DOC—I HAD THE SCARIEST FREAKING DREAM—"

"Scout, bitte, relax!"

_ "THERE WAS THIS LITTLE KID—AND I THINK HE WAS DEAD—AND THERE WAS A BASEBALL FIELD OF DEATH!"_

"Vhat are you rambling on about, Häschens!?"

"OH GAWD DOC I DON'T WANNA DIEEEEE—"

"_SCOUT! I haf morphine und I am not afraid to use it_!"

That shut the boy up quickly. He snapped his mouth shut and fell back against his pillow, knowing full well the doctor would make good on his threats. He stared at Medic with expectant eyes, clutching the bed covers in a firm grip.

Medic pressed a hand to his chest to get his racing heart under control. He glared at his surprisingly silent patient. "Vhat?"

"Why am I in the infirmary?"

"You don't know?"

Scout shook his head.

"You don't remember?"

"If I remembered, then I woulda known!"

Medic breathed out in relief. Scout was back all right. He retrieved his stethoscope and bustled around Scout, checking his heart rate and blood pressure. "You've had a very long weekend, Scout."

"All right! Did Demo and I get completely shit-faced?" Scout grinned. "'Cause that would explain the headache."

Medic pressed a hand to Scout's forehead. "No temperature…and no, zere was not wild weekend with Demoman involved."

"Um…" Scout tilted his head to the side, "did I take Engie's truck out and get into an accident?"

"Not quite," Medic muttered, now scribbling down a note to himself on a loose piece of paper.

"Huh. Did Snipes and I wrestle a crocodile?"

"Vhat? No!"

"C'mon, doc, just tell me what happened! Pleaseeee!"

"If you must know, Respawn malfunctioned und you were turned into a child for ze weekend! Ve had a ze time of our lives trying to wrangle you because you insisted on getting into everything little zing you saw! Someway or anoza ze BLU team found out vhat happened und kidnapped you, und as ve were trying to save you, you vere shot by a sentry und killed! Fortunately, Herr Engineer vas wrong for once und you came back just fine!" All through this speech Medic stalked his way around Scout's bed, waving his arms around wildly as he spoke. He stopped at the foot of the bed, breathing hard.

Scout stared at him for a long moment, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. And then he burst out laughing. "Aw, doc, that is the stupidest thing I have evah heard! Geez, what kinda bozo comes up with that lame-ass story? C'mon, gimme the truth!"

Medic sniffed. "I just did."

Puzzled, Scout tilted his head to the side, eyes focused on Medic's impassive face. He wasn't joking. Not one bit.

It was then he noticed something resting by his feet. It was Teddy Roosebelt.

The sight of the stuffed bear slapped Scout in the face, and all of a sudden everything came rushing back to him. He stifled a gasp and buried his face in his hands. "Oh God. That shit _happened_."

"Ja, it did." Medic collapsed back in his chair with a slight smirk. "Do you plan on coming out of your hands?"

"No." Scout muttered behind his fingers. "Nuh-uh. How am I supposed to look the guys in the eyes? And, oh damn, the BLU faggot! He's never gonna let me live this one down! No, I'm gonna stay right here for evah."

"If it's any consolation, Häschens, ve all thought you vere adorable."

Apparently it wasn't a consolation as Scout just groaned. He stubbornly hid behind his fingers.

Medic picked up his Jane Austen book. "Ze others are worried about you," he said softly. When Scout shook his head, he smirked. "Ve haf cake."

A pause.

"What kind?"

"Your favorite."

"Double-chocolate layah?"

"Ja."

"…well, it don't mean nuh-tin if ya ain't got ice cream to go—"

"Ve haf ice cream too."

Scout's tummy rumbled. Inch by inch, the Bostonian lowered his hands away from his face. A deep frown was still etched into his features, though. "The guys are't gonna make fun-a me, are they?"

"Not at all, Häschens. I believe zey will do the exact opposite."

**….**

It had taken a lot of whining to convince Medic that he didn't need to be wheeled around in a wheelchair, and only his pride kept him from caving in when Medic told him he could race the wheelchair down the corridors if he wanted to.

He almost regretted it, though, as he stumbled down the hallway towards the mess hall. Apparently the Respawn had done a number on him, and he'd been out for a whole day. Scout stopped to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.

A kid. He'd been turned into a freaking little kid. God, it was just like those stupid sci-fi books Billy used to read all the time. He'd tried reading one once—it was dumb.

Scout watched a spider skitter across the floor as he mused on the weekend. Still….

Still, it had been sorta fun. Not that he would admit that to the team, never, ever in a million years. _Ever_. But he couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he thought of Sol giving piggyback rides or Heavy singing lullabies. There was a softer side to his team, and Scout was inwardly glad he got to see it; because he was sure he'd never see it again.

He had pushed himself off of the wall, and continued on his slow but steady way towards the mess hall, pushing it open with one shoulder as he did so. "Yo, what did I miss—AARGH! PYRO! PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN!"

Scout yelped and squirmed in Pyro's arms, for the firebug had pounced on him, wrapped two strong arms around his skinny frame, and was now enveloping him in a hug that lifted him straight off of his feet. "Help," he wheezed to the rest, "help! I can't breathe!"

"Don't be such a whiner, son," Engineer grinned at him over a cup of coffee, "Pyro's just happy to see y'all. As are we all." He didn't add how his head had gone dizzy with relief when Scout came through the door.

Demoman nodded as he leaned back in his chair. "Ye gave us quite the scare there, lad."

Pyro finally consented to put Scout down and the speedster staggered over to a chair, gasping for breath. He rubbed his abdomen. "Happy to see me? What, was I that terrible as a kid?"

"So ya know." Sniper's eyebrows flew up into his panama hat.

Scout turned to face the Aussie, surprised to see him without his aviators. There were bags around his bright blue eyes, and the skin around his left eye was slightly discolored. "Yeah, the doc told me. What happened to you?"

"Ya owe me a new pair of glasses, that's wot happened." Sniper settled back in his seat with a scowl, one hand drifting up to finger the rough skin around his left eye. When Scout continued to stare at him, he sighed in resignation. "M'just relieved ta see ya back all roight. Don't ya worry 'bout me."

"'kay." Scout's gaze swept across the room, landing on Heavy. "So…" he tilted his head to the side as he thought. "Yous guys kicked some serious BLU ass, right?"

"Da!" Heavy laughed. "We kicked the itty-bitty baby backsides of BLU. Was good fun!" A wicked grin came to his face and Scout swallowed, grateful that Heavy was on their side.

"And…" Scout tilted his head to the other side, "now what?"

"Now what?" Soldier thundered. "We didn't just make this cake to admire it, boy! We're going to celebrate your birthday and the sweet taste of victory! Like men!" He slammed a sagging, sloppy, and slightly burnt cake down on the table.

Scout looked down at it, and then up at the grinning Soldier. A smile came to his face. "Fine with me."

As they ate the cake—occasionally muscling their way past the gag reflex—the rest of the story was told to Scout. The minute the RED team heard Scout had died, to the last they had been seized by a hell-hath-no-wrath type of fury, and nearly torn to the BLU base to pieces.

As he talked, Sniper was careful to leave out the part where he found Spy surrounded by a bunch of dead BLUs, wild-eyed and with a bloodied butterfly knife in hand. It had taken all of his experience in the Outback, talking to Spy as one talked to a trapped and wounded animal, to get his teammate to put the knife away. He was careful as well to leave out the part where Spy had been shot in the left shoulder, and the faded black numbers tattooed into his arm that Sniper had caught a glimpse of as he tended to the wound. He was mindful enough not the mention the panic attack Spy had nearly succumbed to. He'd seen Spy at his weakest, and the Frenchman had sworn him to secrecy.

All these things and more Sniper didn't tell Scout, because his parents had raised him to be a lot of things—a good friend among them.

It had been a RED victory that day, and even more so when they realized Scout's body was nowhere to be found—the boy was Respawning.

Engineer had been wrong. The tech that kept them alive had still been in Scout, and as he went through the computer system all of his files had been rebooted, so to speak. They'd nearly beaten the crap out of Engineer for scaring them so badly, and the only thing that had saved Engineer from the beating of his life was news from the Administrator.

Somehow or another—and it was here Miss Pauling had found something interesting to read on her clipboard—Saxton Hale had been informed of the situation at Teufort. Now, in addition to be a weapons manufacturer, world-champion shark wrestler, and five-time winner of Mustache of the Month's Featured Man, Saxton Hale was also benefactor to several large orphanages across the world. For all his outward manliness, it appeared that even Saxton Hale disliked the idea of children in an active warzone. And thus ceasefire had been called while the Administrator fought a short and brutal ammunition boycott from Mann Co. There was a solution in sight, Miss Pauling had assured the RED team later on in private, and it seemed to involve steak dinner.

"Feet off the table, boyo!" Demoman reached over and shoved Scout's feet off of the table.

The speedster's chair landed back into a proper position with a thud. Scout groaned. "Yous guys can't boss me 'round no more! I'm a grown-frickin'-man—"

"I think I loiked ya better when ya only knew six or so words." Sniper smirked.

"Can we just stop talkin' 'bout that, already? I don't wanna hear no more jokes 'bout 'Engiebear this' or 'bonk that'—"

Engineer chuckled. "You were so _cuuuute_, though, son!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You were a stubborn little maggot. Couldn't get you to do anything!" Soldier scoffed.

Heavy chortled. "Is leetle man embarrassed that he was so cute as an itty-bitty baby?"

"Oh c'mon, fellas, I wanna be taken seriously—"

"And that will be impossible to do with the memory of you rubbing mashed potatoes all over your face."

The last voice was cold and distant, and at the sound of it Scout spun around in his chair. The others had suddenly taken a great interest in the crumbs on their plates. Spy was standing in the doorway, snapping his lighter closed as he held a lit cigarette to his mouth. "I see everything is back to normal."

Scout cleared his throat. "Hey spook." Around him the others were taking quick glances at Spy out of the corner of their eyes.

"Bonjour, little bunny," Spy's eyes flickered over Scout, "I see that Soldier's attempt at cooking 'as not shriveled your intestines."

"Nope." Scout patted his stomach. "Not yet."

"Good." Spy started over, pulling something out of his pocket as he did so. "I believe this belongs to you. Sentimental value aside, I 'ave no use for baseball junk." He tossed Cy Young's baseball card down besides Scout's plate. He didn't even stop walking.

Scout half-smirked as Spy took a seat next to Sniper. "Spook…I remember everything."

"Excellent. So you will remember that you owe me."

"Oh yeah. Big time. I'll get all ya suits dry-cleaned or something…" Scout's mocking tone faded away for an instant. He stared at Spy, a genuinely puzzled look on his face. Then Scout stood, pocketed Cy Young, and strolled over to Spy. He leaned down, whispered something in the Frenchman's ear, and grinned when his former playmate's eyes went wide with shock. Spy turned his head slowly to stare at Scout, cigarette limp in his hand. Scout half-smiled, shrugged, and started to go back to his seat. He paused, though, when his eyes rested on Engineer.

As Scout studied Engineer with a little frown, Sniper leaned over and poked Spy's shoulder. "Wot did he tell ya?" he murmured.

"None of your business," Spy growled in a low whisper.

"C'mon, spook—"

"If you must know, 'e told me that _you_ were the _worst_ babysitter of the bunch."

Sniper looked genuinely affronted. "No he didn't!"

They started to argue in low, harsh tones. Scout stood in front of them with a wide, buck-toothed smile stretching across his face. "Yo, hardhat…"

"Yeah?" Engineer arched his eyebrows.

"'member that promised you made me? 'bout teaching me how to drive ya truck?"

Engineer's jaw dropped in absolute horror and he scrambled up. "Uh—I'm gonna—where's the doc—I need—to talk—wanna see—" Muttering wildly, he backpedaled out of the mess hall.

Scout's shoulders sagged. "Fine," he muttered, aiming a kick at the seat Engineer had previously occupied, "shoulda known he wouldn't make good on that promise."

A tap on his shoulder stopped the self-pity party before it could begin. Soldier and Demoman were standing behind him with wicked grins, a familiar set of keys dangling from Soldier's hand.

The trouble-making trio darted for the door, but half-way out Scout poked his head back in. "Hey, uh, spook? I ain't gonna tell nobody. I promise. Scout's honor." He raised his hand in the three-fingered salute of the Boy Scouts with a faint smile.

Spy smiled back at him wanly, ignoring the curious looks from the rest. "I trust you, petit."

**….**

"I trust I will not be lied to ever again. Be careful, Herr Doctor. Next time the Respawn safety net might not be there to catch you, or any of your teammates who happen to go…astray."

Something ugly flashed through Medic's eyes. "Is zat a threat?"

"One of the mildest I've ever made, I assure you." Helen leaned forward, fingers interlocking. She was quiet for a moment, studying the German from her monitor. She smirked. When she continued, her voice was cold and harsh: "Of course, it's not death that you fear most, is it? No, rather, it's the fear that your dear team will find out about your _previous_ affiliations. My, my, I wonder what they would think of their steady-handed, dependable Medic then…"

Medic stiffened. "You haf made your point clear, Fräulein. Next time an… unusual… situation occurs, you vill be the first to know."

"There better not be a next time."

She cut the feed with nary another word, leaving Medic to sag and push his glasses up onto his forehead, rubbing at his sore eyes. With tired, languid movements he slipped his glasses back down and started back towards his desk.

Something in the doorway stopped him short.

Medic was too tired even to sigh. He spun around his heel, expression unreadable. "How long vere you standing zere, Dell?"

"Long enough, doc." Engineer replied. He was leaning up against the door frame nonchalantly. "Long enough."

"So you know."

"Yeah, but I thought you said the Nazis were—"

"Coldhearted brutes vith no moral boundaries, ja. But I never said I did not work for zem." When Medic smiled, the look was sad and broken. "Believe me vhen I say zat not a day goes by vhere I do not regret vhat I did."

The tone in his voice was completely honest, and Engineer felt inclined to believe him. "Then why did you do it?"

"Because I vas young, und I vas good, und vhat ze Nazis vanted zey had a vay of getting. Und I had a family to protect. Not zat it mattered in ze end, but…" His voice trailed off with a heavy sigh. "You should know best of all vhat lengths a man vill go to protect his family."

Engineer half-shrugged. "I know."

"I am svearing you to secrecy, Herr Engineer."

Engineer mimed zipping his mouth shut. "Not a word, doc, I promise. I'll take this one to the grave."

Medic was inclined to trust him. He nodded his thanks, eyes sad.

Engineer cleared his throat. "Can I ask what happened to—"

_SCREEECH. KABOOM._

"MAGGOT! THAT IS NOT HOW YOU BACK UP A TRUCK, BOY!"

Engineer's eyes widened in horror. "Hold that thought, doc—" He ran out of the infirmary, screaming at the top of his lungs about delicate machinery and 'who gave that little brat the keys' and "SOL YOU ARE _DEAD_!"

Medic's smile became a bit more real. He took Engineer's place, leaning against the door and listening to the chaotic sounds of his team. It was true. He had lost everything some twenty-odd years ago, and it had been a long, long time before these eight stupid psychos came barreling into his life with all the grace of a freight train. Now, however, he couldn't picture life without them. Sure, it would have been more peaceful, far less stressful, and he wouldn't have had to wash bloodstains out of his clothes on a daily basis, but…

"What are you going to do, bushman? Run five miles away and shoot me?"

"Ye—no. I'm gonna cut ya to ribbons if ya keep up the attitude, Frenchie!"

"Mmmpft! Mmprft!"

"BESSIE! WHAT IN THE NAME OF SAM HILL DID YOU THREE DO TO BESSIE?!"

"We'll give the lass a new paint job, laddie, dunnae worry—"

"NONSENSE! That old rust-bucket can handle a few more dents—"

"Hey, uh, fellas, I think I'm bleedin' 'gain, and if someone wants to take me to the doc that'd be awesome—"

"LEETLE TEAM IS TRYING MY PATIENCE!"

Without them, it'd simply be too quiet. And Medic didn't like that idea. Not one bit.

**….**

"Pauling, next time you try to go behind my back, at least be subtle about it. Don't think I don't know who tipped off Hale."

"Yes, ma'am."

Helen glanced at the girl out of the corner of her eye. Pauling was good, she mused, very good. And dependable, which was a surprisingly rare quality in most of her employees. She twirled an unlit cigarette through her fingers as she thought. "You acted on your instincts. I can't begrudge you that."

"Ma'am…you wouldn't really have let the RED Scout die, would you?"

Helen rolled her eyes. Pauling was smart and dependable, yes, but young too. She had a long ways to go. She tapped a few quick codes into her keyboard, bringing up a diagram of eighteen mercenaries. Half red, half blue, and all alight. She leaned forward, pressed a button, and for an instant the RED Medic's silhouette went dark. She pressed another button and the silhouette lit up again. "Only I control who truly lives and who truly dies, Pauling. A small bug in the system would not have been enough to knock out the Scout's Respawn chip. We come prepared for abnormal situations. Besides, do you know how much of a headache recruiting a new Scout would be?"

"But then why…?"

"As I said, to teach the REDs a lesson about lying, and to show the BLUs who pulls the strings around here. And…a small test of sorts."

Pauling's brow furrowed. "Test?"

"Yes. To see how far the BLUs would go, and where they drew the moral line between kidnapping a child and killing it. And to see how hard the REDs would fight for one another in times of need. Such information is vital in our line of work." Helen lit her cigarette and took a long drag, eyes fixated on the screen. "Go down to level three and remind the techies down there to take another look at Respawn. I don't want another incident like this occurring ever again."

"Of course, ma'am."

Pauling paused at the threshold of the door, one final thought nagging at her. "Ma'am…did RED and BLU pass their tests?"

Helen didn't turn around in her chair, mostly so Pauling wouldn't see her slight, indulgent smile. "With flying colors, Miss Pauling. With flying colors."

* * *

In the middle of writing this chapter it hit me. This was it. No more little Scoot. And I actually choked up a bit. Damn. *clears throat* A couple of general notes:

1. Antoine's message to Philippe is whatever you want it/need it to be. I have an idea, but I prefer to leave it to your imaginations

2. There are a handful of brick jokes/lampshade hangings in this chapter. Bonus points if you can spot 'em!

3. I actually ended up writing the scene between Sniper and PanicAttack!Spy, and I'll put it up as a 'deleted scene' if you guys are interested.

4. While you're waiting on the next chapter, go shower your awesome love on Jinny the Kisaragi's "Adventures With BLU", gsppcrocks10's "A Soldier's Best Friend", and, for any HP/Amnesia fans out there, TheOneInTheMirror's "Half Remembered Past". :3

Up next: Well...with all this talk of big brothers, it wouldn't be right not to have Danny make an appearance...


	18. Five Minutes To Ten

_****_Well. Here we are.

First, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my great-aunt, who was the coolest of Cool Old Ladies you could ever know. And I'd like to dedicate to my big brothers and sisters, who are my Dannys, and to my nieces and nephews, who we owe this whole story too.

Thank you to Belphegor and RiRi for their amazing encouragement and advice throughout this crazy ride.

And thanks to my reviewers. Hot damn, my reviewers. You guys were the backbone of this entire rollercoaster ride, and I can't put into words how grateful I am to all of you. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And finally, thanks to the guys at Valve for bringing a cast of crazy characters to life. And if anyone at Valve happens to be reading this: 1. That's Awesome. 2. THANK YOU. 3. GET BACK TO WORK. 4. Tell Gaben I said hi.

~Chaos :3

* * *

_**Epilogue:**** Five Minutes to Ten**_

It was nine-fifty-five, and they were late.

Danny Collins scuffed his raggedy old shoes in the dirt, twirling himself around his daughter's tire swing. His eyes were fixated expectantly on the empty dusty road. A full minute ticked by and still the road remained empty. A small sigh left him.

"Danny, you're doing the eyebrow thing again."

Danny jerked his hand away from his eyebrows, for he had been plucking at them without realizing it. He spun the tire swing around to face his wife. "Sorry."

"Don't be. And stop worrying," Leanne ruffled his flyaway hair affectionately, "I'm sure they'll be here soon. Maybe they stopped for breakfast."

"They said they were going to be here at nine," Danny exclaimed, "it's almost ten! What if they broke down at the side of the road? What if they got into a horrible accident? What if," his voice lowered as he confessed his secret worry to Leanne, "what if it was all just a horrible joke?"

Leanne straightened out his thick glasses for him before planting a kiss on his head. "They'll be here. I'm going to make some eggs and bacon. Do you want some?"

Danny nodded, a ghost of a smile around his lips. Leanne's cooking was always good for cheering him up. He gave her a quick peck on the lips in slight thanks for snapping him out of it. She flounced off back the house, and Danny took to spinning in the tire swing again.

It had been Leanne who had convinced him to track down his brothers, who had been scattered to the winds. It was only right, she argued, that they heal over those old and ugly wounds. He wasn't getting any younger, and neither were his brothers. It was time to man up and apologize, and hope that his seven siblings could do the same.

It had taken a full month and multiple conversations with his mother to track them all down. Charlie was in jail for petty thievery in Florida. Liam had joined the Green Berets, and had been shipped off to Vietnam. Sean was traveling the world as a part of the Peace Corps. Mack was in Rhode Island, teaching at Brown. Ian had inherited the machine shop from his grandfather and whiled away the hours fixing cars. Billy opened a boutique down in Pennsylvania. And Scout, his little baby Scoot, was somewhere in New Mexico, working for a demolition company.

Only Scout had answered his letters.

_Scoot._ Danny's lips twitched upwards. It had been such a long time since he'd seen his littlest brother, and he missed the boy so much it physically ached. Although he technically wasn't supposed to play favorites, Scout had always been his most adored brother. He'd do anything for him.

It wasn't fair, Charlie had whined when they were little, that Danny wanted to stay inside and play blocks with baby Scout instead of joining a game of ball. He wasn't even their full brother. He was just _half_, the product of a disastrous fling between their widowed mother and a smooth-talking veteran. Half of Scout didn't even belong to them, Charlie exclaimed as Danny patiently helped Scout build a little tower of blocks, why did he care so much?

Danny couldn't quite remember his retort, but he could bet it had been a good one. Something about a half-brother still being a brother. Scout hadn't done anything wrong, he was just a little kid!

He may or may not have beaten the crap out of Charlie too. Danny couldn't quite recall.

He sighed, scratched his beard, and waited some more.

Fifteen minutes or so passed, and Danny was about to give up and trudge back inside, when a cloud of dust on the horizon caught his attention. Heart hammering, he slid out of the tire swing and jogged over to the fence, watching excitedly as a careworn red truck heaved and spluttered its way down the lonely dirt road and towards the purple house with the white picket fence.

A few feet from its destination the truck gave a magnificent groan, a last hurrah of sorts, and died.

Instantly a short, tubby man jumped out the driver's seat, yelling at someone inside the truck and removing his ten-gallon hat as a sign of respect for the poor old vehicle.

It wasn't the driver Danny had his attention on, though.

It was the skinny, long-limbed young man wearing a red shirt and a black baseball cap who slipped out of the passenger's seat, called something to the driver over the older man's exclamations, and started for the house.

Danny's grip on the fence tightened.

Scout was leaner than he remembered, and he looked far more grown-up too. Well, Scout was twenty-one. Of course he would look more grown-up. But Danny would bet anything that if Scout took off that cap his brown hair would still stick up in the back, same as it always did. He leaped over the fence and jogged up to meet the boy.

Scout stopped short, jaw dropping as Danny approached. "Ya got a _beard_."

"And you still haven't learned how to say hello," Danny replied cheerfully.

Scout flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh…hey Danny."

"Hey Scoot."

And then Danny pounced forward, enveloping Scout in a huge hug. Scout went rigid for a moment, and then slowly, cautiously, raised his arms up and returned the embrace. He allowed himself to relax in Danny's arms, burying his face in his older brother's shirt. He smelled like a father, Scout mused. Like aftershave and coffee grinds and just a hint of dusty old books. It felt good, having Danny's protective arms around him, and for just one last time Scout pretended to be a little kid, running to his brother after a bad set of nightmares. As for Danny, well, he just held on a bit tighter to his little brother and silently swore he'd never, ever let go again.

After a few minutes of this, however, Scout twitched. "Danny…" he muttered into the older boy's shirt, "lemme go."

"No."

"C'mon, Danny, leggo!" Scout tried to jerk away, but Danny grinned mischievously and tugged Scout closer.

"No way, Scoot, I gotcha, I'm never lettin' ya go!"

"_Danny_," Scout whined, "my friends are watchin'! Ya gonna embarrass me! Geez, you always, always, _always_ do this! Lemme go!"

"Fine." With an exaggerated sigh Danny released Scout, sending the younger boy staggering back, dramatically gasping for air. "You used to love getting hugged, Scoot!"

"Gawd, you're still on with that nickname! I'm a grown-ass man, Danny, I ain't Scoot no more!"

"Once a Scoot, always a Scoot…Scoot." Danny adjusted his glasses, the tease in his voice gentle.

Scout rolled his eyes. "You are so _lame_. Like, if they handed out awards for lameness, you'd get first place."

Danny chuckled. "I missed you too, Scout."

Scout smiled and half-shrugged. "Hey… uh, is Jane around? I got something for her."

"A present? You didn't have to do that."

"Well, it's like, kinda like a present."

"Oooh, I see." Except that he didn't see at all. Danny jerked a thumb towards the house. "She was playing in the backyard, she might still be there."

"Cool." And with that, Scout jumped in the fence in a single bound and ran around the house.

Danny smoothed out his shirt and turned to meet the driver approaching him. "Hi. Sorry about your truck."

"Ah, she'll be fine." The driver's voice twanged with the plains of Texas. "I can fix 'er up in a jiffy. I'm just happy we got Scout here all right. Sorry about the delay. Someone," here he scowled at Scout's retreating back, "thought it would be fun to take the truck for a spin while we stopped for gas."

"Uh-oh." Danny muttered, unable to contain his smarmy grin.

"Uh-oh is right." The driver muttered. "I'll never be able to pay back the driver of that poor Chevy…gah! Where are my manners? The name's Dell Conagher, pleased to make your acquaintance."

He stuck out his left hand and Danny accepted it, looking with interest at Dell's gloved right hand before raising his gaze to the Texan's friendly eyes. "I'm Danny, Scout's—"

"Oldest brother. I know," Dell broke their shake with a laugh, "he wouldn't shut up from New Mexico to Ohio 'bout you. Told me everything. You're a man of science, from what I hear. I can respect that."

"Technically." Danny hooked his thumbs into his pants pockets. "I teach political science over at Kent State."

Political Science. Dell resisted the urge to scoff at the sissy-stuff, instead fiddling with his hat. "Well, it was mighty generous of y'all to invite the three of us to stay."

"It was no problem at all! Besides, you carted Scout all the way up here, the least I can do is—three?" Danny peeked around Dell's shoulder in confusion. "Is there someone else here?"

"DANNY!" Leanne called from the doorway of the house. "C'MON INSIDE, SCOUT BROUGHT A FRIEND!"

Dell muttered something under his breath about damn Spies and followed after Danny, who had started once more for the house.

Once inside the neat little house, the two men stopped short inside the kitchen.

A tall, lean man in a crisp pinstriped suit sat at the kitchen table, looking as though he had been there his whole life. He took another drag of his cigarette as he sized up Danny. "Bonjour," he said at last, "I 'ope you do not mind. I took the liberty of letting myself in. Your wife makes the best scrambled eggs."

Leanne waved a dismissive hand through the air with a giggle and Dell sent the Frenchman a look saying "If-you-seduce-her-I-will-rip-out-your-spine-and-beat-you-with-it".

Spy pointedly chose to ignore this message from the Engineer, electing to stand and stick out his hand for Danny to shake. "My name is Jacques. Dell and I work with your little brother. He's a good kid."

Danny accepted the handshake, but found words difficult to come by. "Can I, uh, ask about the ski mask?"

"Balaclava." Spy—who had chosen the name Jacques at random—corrected. "I am afraid it was the result of a truly 'orrid accident. I was too close to a blast site. My beautiful face," he gestured to it, "is no more."

"That sounds pretty dangerous." Danny frowned while Engineer rolled his eyes at Spy's antics. "Scout doesn't go anywhere near those blast sites, does he?"

"Nah," Engineer shook his head, "we keep the boy far and away from any danger. He's a pencil pusher."

Danny visibly relaxed. "That's good to hear. So, how long will you be staying?" he tried not to sound overly-hopeful.

Engineer and Spy shrugged at the same time. "A few days. The boss, she don't take too kindly to us taken too much time off."

"Ah," Danny collapsed down in a kitchen chair, "I see—"

An 'awwww' noise from Leanne garnered the attention of the three men. She was standing at the kitchen window, looking out into the backyard. "Scout and Jane are playing. How cute!"

Danny craned his neck to get a glimpse of his little brother and his daughter seated at a child-sized table, passing a fake teapot back and forth. He snorted. "That kid is never going to grow up."

It was fortunate his attention was on the window, otherwise he would've been mystified by the smirks Spy and Engineer exchanged.

**….**

"Hi."

A long shadow fell over Jane's little play table and she paused in the middle of pouring a drink for Sir Stuffalot. Slowly her eyes traveled upwards to meet the tall skinny boy standing in front of her. "Hi."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Playin' tea."

"Oh. That's cool."

"Yeah. Wanna sit down?"

"Sure. My name is—"

"Uncle Scout." Jane cut him off. "I know. Daddy's been talkin' 'bout you and my other uncles a lot."

"Uh-huh. And you're Jane. Your dad sent me your picture. You were cuter in the picture." The last was added with a slightly teasing voice as Scout plopped down.

Jane rolled her eyes. "And you didn't sound so dumb in daddy's stories. How come you talk so funny?"

"I don't tahk funny!" Scout exclaimed. "I got a Boston accent, whatcha want from me?"

"Well, Boston accents are _dumb_."

"_You're_ dumb."

They huffed at the same time and crossed their arms over their chest in a surprisingly similar fashion. A silent staring contest ensued, and Jane lost when Scout started to make faces. She burst out in giggles and looked away.

Scout blinked. "Ha-ha, I win. Guess I don't have to give ya the present now."

"A present? I want a present!"

"Ya gotta say 'please' first, shrimp."

"Puh-leeeeeease?"

Scout rolled his eyes good-naturedly and pulled his present out of his pocket. "Ta-da!"

Jane took the baseball card he offered to her with a little frown, studying the serious, neatly groomed young man in the portrait. "Cy Young? Who's that?"

Scout spluttered. "Who's Cy Young?! WHO'S CY YOUNG—ah, geez, ya gotta be kiddin' me, he's one-a the baseball greats—"

"Oh. Well. I don't really like baseball."

"Don't like baseball." Scout muttered, agitated now. "Don't like baseball. Kids these days, geez—they don't know nut-tin…tell ya what, kid, I'm gonna teach ya all 'bout baseball."

"But I'm playing tea right now!" Jane protested, holding up her teapot as proof.

"Tea is dumb!"

"Baseball's dumb!"

"You're dumb!"

"You're dumber!" Jane bounced up and down in her spot. She looked at her little tea set, and then at her uncle's scowl. "Tell ya what. You play tea with me, and then you can teach me everything about baseball."

Scout arched an eyebrow. "Fine. If it means ed-ja-catin ya on baseball." He scooted a bit closer to the table and crossed his legs. "How do we play?"

"I'm the princess," Jane sniffed, "and I'm throwing a royal tea party for my court."

"Oookay. Sose I get to be the knight, right?"

"Nuh-uh." Jane shook her head and pointed to a teddy bear. "Sir Stuffalot is the knight. You get to be…" she puffed out her cheeks as she thought and to Scout the action looked oddly familiar, "the servant who fetches us stuff."

"No way! I ain't a servant!"

"Well we already have a knight!"

Scout snorted and racked his brains for an idea. "How's 'bout…how's 'bout I'm an evil wizahd lookin' to take ovah ya kingdom, and the servant schtick is just a cover-up?" He rubbed his hands together with a gleam in his eyes.

Jane considered this plot twist for a moment. "Okay." She said at last. "You can be the evil wizard."

The game lasted a lot longer than it was supposed to, largely because the two youngsters were so good at their roles. The sun crept up and over their heads, Leanne brought out snacks, bugs flitted about the garden and the day wore on. Occasionally one of the adults would peek out the window to check on the children, smiling faintly when they did.

Jane was a very clever little princess and Scout was a very dramatic and hammy evil wizard. Naturally, Sir Stuffalot was a very good, noble, and cunning knight. And because as far as children were concerned good would always triumph over evil in the end, Scout was a good sport and finally allowed himself to be stabbed in the chest with the mighty sword Excalibur.

Which, in actuality, was just a harmless spoon.

—Fin—

* * *

Well.

That's that.

But...y'know...there are some questions being left unanswered...and I've discovered how much fun writing a multi-chapter story can be...So...

*hesitates*

I guess...

*looks around*

I have to...

*deep breath*

Write a sequel.

So pack your bags and saddle up your kangaroos, people, because next time we're spending Christmas in Australia! YEEEE-HAW!

*runs*

~Chaos :D

(p.s.: Can I have a page on TvTropes? I don't think you're supposed to ask for them, but I have been very good and I ate all my veggies and did my homework and...it's all I really want out of life...*doe eyes*)


End file.
